EETE0SPECT8 


•J* 


EETROSPECTS 


BY 

WILLIAM  KNIGHT 

EMEBITUS  PROFBS80B  OF  PHILOSOPHY  IN    THE 
UNIVEBSITY  OF   ST.  ANDBEWS 


FIRST    SERIES 


LONDON 
SMITH,  ELDER,  &  CO.,  16  WATERLOO  PLACE 

1904 

[All    rights    reserved] 


PEEFACE 


In  these  Betrospects  no  attempt  is  made  to  trace  the 
full  career,  or  describe  the  varied  work,  of  those  whose 
names  occur  in  them.  Neither  finished  portraiture,  nor 
detailed  biography,  is  aimed  at.  Only  a  tew  prcBteritay 
regarding  some  notable  English  men  and  women  of  last 
century — which  would  otherwise  have  been  unrecorded — 
are  brought  together,  and  set  down  in  a  sort  of  miscellany. 
It  has  been  prepared  for  the  sake  of  those  who  now  care 
for,  and  others  who  may  yet  be  interested  in,  the  memory 
and  the  words  of  those  included  in  it.  The  majority  are 
well-known  persons  ;  and  '  Memoirs,'  *  Lives,'  *  Journals,' 
*  Letters,'  or  slighter  *  Sketches '  of  several  of  them — the 
work  of  competent  and  accredited  authors — now  exist. 
The  ground  thus  occupied  is  not  retraversed  by  me ;  and 
the  chief  interest  of  the  book  will  be  found  in  Letters 
hitherto  unpublished  and  unknown,  which  cast  light  on 
the  character  of  their  writers,  in  Anecdotes  and  Ee- 
miniscences,  as  well  as  fragments  of  unrecorded  Conver- 
sations, along  with  the  impressions  made  on  those  who 
heard  and  have  preserved  them. 

Those  who  are  described,  whose  dicta  are  given,  or 
whose  letters  and  conversations  are  reported,  were  all 

495701 


vi  KETEOSPECTS 

personal  acquaintances.  In  one  or  two  cases  our  meet- 
ings were  only  occasional;  but  with  the  majority  my 
intercourse  was  frequent,  sometimes  continuous,  and  our 
correspondence  extended  over  many  consecutive  years. 

I  now  regret  that  I  did  not,  except  in  rare  cases, 
write  down  at  the  time  of  hearing  them  the  literary  and 
social  judgments,  the  criticism  of  men  and  things,  and 
the  casual  sayings  of  these  men  (all  now  deceased),  as  I 
did  in  the  Golloquia  Peripatetica  of  John  Duncan,  and 
in  the  case  of  one  or  two  whose  names  occur  in  Some 
Nineteenth  Century  Scotsmen.  Unfortunately  I  trusted 
to  what  might  enter,  and  be  retained  in,  the  storehouses 
of  memory;  but  after  the  lapse  of  years  many  things 
preserved  in  these  crypts  of  necessity  become  dim. 
Others,  however — and  these  the  most  important  ones — 
now  stand  out  all  the  clearer  on  the  horizon,  and  come 
back  with  photographic  distinctness  to  the  inward  eye ; 
so  that  I  need  not  say,  in  the  words  of  a  poet,  some  of 
whose  unpublished  letters  will  be  found  in  these  pages — 

I  seem  left  alive 
Like  a  sea-jelly  weak  on  Patmos  strand, 
To  tell  dry  sea-beach  gazers  how  it  fared 
When  there  was  mid-sea,  and  the  mighty  things. 

It  has  been  described  as  the  best  of  all  kinds  of 
education  for  men  or  women  to  live  under  the  influence 
of  characters  that  are  strong,  original,  exalted,  and 
benign ;  that  are  many-sided,  fertile-minded,  and  ideal. 
There  is  truth  in  the  remark.  When  so  large  a  part  of 
every  life  has  to  be  spent  in  a  prosaic  world  of  details, 
where  mere  routine  becomes  unfruitful  if  not  fettering, 


PKEFACej  yii 

and  begets  commonplace  if  it  is  not  barren  of  result, 
the  privilege  of  occasional  converse  with  those  who  live 
in  the  realm  of  ideality,  whence  they  step  out  to  greet 
and  to  cheer  the  toilers  in  the  actual,  is  great.  To  meet 
these  higher  men  and  higher  women,  to  hear  them  speak, 
and  to  see  how  an  ideal  character  can  wreath  itself  with, 
and  unveil  itself  through,  the  hindrances  of  the  actual  is 
perhaps  the  surest  way  of  getting  to  know  our  Human 
Nature  at  its  best.  The  next,  and  probably  an  easier, 
way  is  to  learn  of  their  conversation,  their  views  of 
things,  their  ideas  of  *  the  true,  the  beautiful,  and  the 
good '  through  books ;  if  those  books  are  a  veracious 
record  by  those  who  wrote  of  what  they  know,  and  of 
experiences  in  which  they  have  themselves  taken  part. 
It  is  for  this,  among  other  reasons,  that  the  following 
pages  have  been  written. 

They  may  contain  some  materials  for  future  criticism, 
but  I  nowhere  assume  the  role  of  critic,  which  is  so 
easy  to  take  up,  and  so  unproductive  when  laid  down. 
Posterity  is  not  much  the  wiser  if  it  merely  gets  to 
know  the  estimates  of  distinguished  people,  formed  by 
those  who  had  an  opportunity  of  meeting  them.  Hence 
it  is  that  *  critical  biographies  '  are  as  a  rule  so  disap- 
pointing and  useless,  sometimes  even  pernicious.  What 
is  posterity  the  better  for  knowing  the  verdict  of  A,  B, 
and  C  upon  *  the  great  of  old,'  whose  spirits  still  *  rule 
us  from  their  urns ' ;  more  especially  when  there  is  much 
more  of  the  A,  B,  and  C,  the  new  critics,  than  of  the 
departed  sage  or  seer  in  the  books  which  the  former 
write  ?    What  it  surely  needs  much  more  is  to  have  an 


viii  KETEOSPECTS 

adequate  and  trustworthy  re-presentation  of  the  past, 
and  new  pictures  of  the  men  and  women — these  *  great 
of  old ' — as  in  a  mirror,  so  that  the  living  may  be  able 
to  realise  the  dead  as  they  lived  and  moved  and  had 
their  being  in  the  flesh. 

To  those  who  wish  to  have  the  past  revivified  for 
them,  and  to  be  revivified  by  it,  the  perusal  or  the  study 
of  such  an  admirable  work  as  our  Dictionary  of  National 
Biography   will   not    wholly   suffice.     That   work    has 
obtained  a  unique  and  assured  place  in  the  literature 
of  England,  and  it  must  be  consulted  by  everyone  who 
wishes   accurately  to    know    the    great   landmarks    of 
History  in  the  light  of  Biography.     But   those  now 
referred  to  will  receive,  perhaps,  quite  as  powerful  an 
influence  from  a  series  of  visits  to  our  great  National 
Portrait  Galleries.    I  do  not  refer  to  the  excellent  one 
at  Trafalgar  Square,  but  to  those  numerous  literary 
Galleries  which  a  competent  reader  may  enter  at  any 
time,  and  traverse  at  will.     Not  that  to  the  Dictionary 
on  the  one  hand,  or  the  Portrait  Gallery  on  the  other,  an 
inferior  position  can  be  assigned ;  but  they  must  be  sup- 
plemented.   I  remember  a  friend  once  asking  me   to 
meet  him  next  day  at  the  Dictionary  of  National  Bio- 
graphy !     He  meant  the  National  Portrait  Gallery  ;  but 
I  thought  his  mistake  a  happy  one,  and  the  parallel 
between  the  two  so  just  and  apposite  that  I  suggested, 
should  he  ever  dine  with  his  fellow-contributors  to  our 
noble  Dictionary,  he  should  see  that  the  chief  toast  of 
the  evening  was   proposed  as   that  of   '  Our  National 
Portrait  Gallery ' ! 


PEEFACE  ix 

But  however  accurate  relevant  and  full,  yet  severely 
concise,  the  Dictionary  articles  are  to  the  scholar,  to 
the  majority  of  readers  they  are — and  are  only  meant 
to  be — a  dry  epitome  of  facts.  While  more  useful  to 
posterity,  and  more  likely  to  live,  than  the  ordinary 
*  Memoir '  or '  Autobiography ' — unless  the  latter  be  a  work 
of  genius — they  have  not  the  same  interest  to  contem- 
poraries ;  and  to  them  Keminiscences  that  are  accurate 
as  well  as  many-sided,  even  if  a  few  things  intrinsically 
trivial  be  taken  up  along  with  the  more  important  ones, 
will  be  welcomed  at  least  for  a  time.  We  all  wish  to 
know  a  good  deal  about  our  recent  contemporaries  which 
will  not  interest  a  later  generation,  and  which  it  may 
gladly  forget.  Such  records  must  of  necessity  contain 
some  local  colourings ;  but  time  is  needed  for  the 
removal  of  these,  and  the  substitution  of  a  clearer 
light. 

As  I  have  said,  it  is  my  aim  not  to  repeat  what  has 
been  already  written,  or  to  walk  over  well-trodden 
ground.  Even  in  the  case  of  such  a  friend  as  James 
Martineau— several  of  whose  letters  to  me  have  been 
published  in  his  Life  and  Letters  and  in  Inter  Amicos  ^ 
— I  have  included  only  those  as  yet  unpublished,  except 
in  two  instances,  where  they  appear  with  addenda  pre- 
viously omitted.  In  the  case  of  Browning's  letters, 
which  were  sent  to  Mrs.  Sutherland  Orr  when  she  was 
writing  the  poet's  life,  but  few  of  which  she  used,  they 
are  now  printed  nearly  in  extenso. 

'  The  originals  of  the  109  letters  I  received  from  him  are  now  at 
Manchester  College,  Oxford. 


X  KETEOSPECTS 

There  is  a  well-known  temptation  to  which  every 
recorder  of  conversation  is  exposed,  which  the  modern 
'  interviewer  '  has  intensified,  and  to  which  many  of  the 
interviewed  succumb.  It  is  to  add  to,  or  embellish,  the 
reports  that  are  given  ;  so  that  the  first  question  to  which 
almost  every  reader  of  *  Keminiscences '  desires  an 
answer  is  the  obvious  one — '  Are  these  things  true  ? 
Are  the  reports  authentic  ?  Is  the  chronicle  veracious 
throughout,  or  at  least  as  accurate  as  that  through 
which  Boswell  has  transmitted  to  us  the  dicta  of  Dr. 
Johnson  ?  '  In  the  case  of  the  greatest  recorder  of  Dia- 
logue, no  one  can  tell  how  much  is  a  literal  transcript, 
and  how  much  is  due  to  the  idealisation  of  the  writer  ; 
and  in  a  case  so  supreme,  when  we  are  in  the  company 
of  Socrates  and  Plato,  we  really  do  not  need  to  know.^ 
But,  with  reference  to  the  conversations  of  lesser  men 
recorded  by  modern  writers,  the  case  is  very  different, 
and  a  general  principle  may  easily  be  reached. 

There  is  no  doubt  that. 

When  to  the  sessions  of  sweet  silent  thought 
We  summon  up  remembrance  of  things  past, 

imagination  should  be  almost  dormant,  while  memory 
should  be  *  distinct  and  clear.'  In  such  circumstances 
alone  can  the  office  of  recorder  be  permissible,  and  the 
result  trustworthy.  But  many  of  our  contemporary 
books  and  magazines  contain  accounts  of  lengthy  inter- 
views with  distinguished  people,  in  which  it  is  obvious 
even  to  the  un-initiate  that  the  recorder  has  coloured 

*  We  are  profoundly  grateful  that  there  were  no  stenographers  at 
Athens,  and  no  typewriters. 


PEEFACE  xi 

his  report,  idealised  his  subject,  invented  details,  and 
allowed  imagination  to  work  alongside  of  memory  in 
producing  the  result  he  gives  us.  To  this,  perhaps 
as  much  as  to  anything  else,  is  due  the  truth  of  the 
maxim  that  *  there  are  more  false  facts  than  false 
theories  abroad  in  the  world.' 

So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  however,  the  reports  given 
in  these  pages,  and  to  be  continued  in  subsequent  ones, 
are  not  only  not  idealised,  but  are  perhaps  ultra- 
realistic.  I  lack  the  power  of  recasting  or  reconstructing 
a  conversation  out  of  a  minimum  of  actual  fact.  In  no 
instance  is  an  attempt  made  to  reproduce  a  lengthened 
conversation  with  those  whose  letters  are  printed.  Many 
detached  remarks  are  given,  but  no  continuous  discourse 
or  discussion.  In  the  case  of  Mr.  Kuskin,  however — a 
retrospect  of  whom  will  appear  in  my  Second  Series — 
I  had  the  help  of  another,  who  accompanied  me  in  one 
of  my  visits  to  Brantwood,  and  who  has  reproduced  a 
longish  conversation  almost  in  its  entirety. 

I  once  listened  to  the  following  desultory  conver- 
sation in  a  railway  carriage,  where  so  many  curious 
conj&dences  are  at  times  revealed  by  loquacious  people. 
After  a  long  discussion  on  literary  matters  and  biogra- 
phical anecdotes,  one  traveller  said,  *  But  take  Mr. . 

He  didn't  record  all  these  sayings  about  the  poet ; 

he  invented  them,  and   must  have  done  so.'     *I  beg 

your  pardon,'  was  the  rejoinder,  *  Mr. is  incapable 

of  invention.  He  is  as  true  a  recorder  of  actual  facts 
as  anyone  who  lives.'  *  Well,  well,'  was  the  reply,  *  I 
don't  believe  in  him  a  bit,  as  a  recorder ;  but  I  accept 


xii  KETEOSPECTS 

his  picturesque  upbuildings.  He  had  to  make  his  book 
a  readable  one,  and  his  exaggerations  are  at  any  rate 
much  better  than  those  of  the  autobiographic  egotist, 
who  gives  to  the  world  a  chronicle  of  his  own  dyspepsia.' 
*But  don't  you  prefer  the  veracious  record  of  a  great 
man's  thoughts  given  us  by  his  friends  rather  than  by 
himself  ?  '  *  Yes,'  was  the  rejoinder ;  *  but  I  wish  still 
more  to  read  his  own  letters,  or  the  memoranda  he  has 
left  us.' 

It  is  now  many  years  since  these  Betr aspects  were 
begun,  and  when  an  early  chapter  was  printed — under 
the  present  title,  which  was  then  copyrighted — I  hoped 
to  be  able  to  finish  them  soon.  Many  circumstances 
have  prevented  the  completion  of  the  First  Series  till 
now.  I  fear  I  cannot  apply  to  myself  the  consolation 
which  Browning  gave  to  all  the  world  in  his  sentence, 
*  Works  done  least  rapidly,  Art  more  cherishes  ' ;  but  at 
any  rate  the  delay  has  enabled  me  to  include  in  this 
volume — and  will  further  enable  me  to  include  in  its 
sequel — letters  and  reminiscences  of  some  writers,  both 
English  and  American,  which  would  otherwise  have 
been  left  out. 

It  will  be  seen  that  the  sketches  differ  in  one  im- 
portant respect.  In  the  case  of  Carlyle,  anecdote  and 
reminiscence  preponderate ;  in  the  case  of  Browning, 
Martineau,  and  Stanley,  these  are  given  along  with 
the  letters  which  they  wrote ;  while  in  others,  such  as 
those  of  Shorthouse,  Davies,  Smetham,  and  Elwin,  their 
letters  are  the  chief  interest  throughout. 

What  I  have  written  is  not  addressed  to  those  *  who 


PEEFACE 


Xlll 


run  to  read,'  and  much  of  it  may  be  *  caviare  to  the 
general'  I  recall,  however,  a  remark  written  somewhere 
by  Carlyle,  and  which  I  heard  him  repeat  with  variations 
one  evening  at  Cheyne  Row  in  his  sonorous  musical 
monotone :  *  Is  a  thing  nothing  because  the  Morning 
Papers  have  not  chronicled  it  ?  And  can  a  nothing  be 
made  a  something  by  ever-so-much  babblement  of  it 
there?' 

Reminiscences  of  and  letters  from  Ruskin,  Cardinal 
Newman,  George  Frederick  Watts,  James  Russell  Lowell, 
Lords  Selborne  and  Coleridge,  Herbert  Spencer,  Lecky, 
Henry  Sidgwick,  Roden  Noel,  Dora  Greenwell,  Aubrey 
de  Vere,  the  late  Master  of  Balliol,  Sir  John  Seeley, 
Leslie  Stephen,  William  Morris,  Dante  Rossetti,  Mrs. 
Oliphant,  and  many  others  will  be  found  in  my  Second 
Series. 

What  is  writ  is  writ ;  would  it  were  worthier. 

It  may  be  of  use  to  a  few,  but  only  for  a  time.  There 
is  no  such  thing  as  finality  in  the  estimates  of  the  dead, 
and  fresh  material  is  sure  to  be  ingathered  in  reference 
to  those  whose  words  and  deeds  are  recorded  here.  It 
would  be  well  to  have  it  collected  soon,  as  it  is  only  for 
a  brief  period  that  our  existing  records  will  be  either 
available  or  needful. 

We  pass ;  the  path  that  each  man  trod 
Is  dim,  or  will  be  dim,  with  weeds ; 
What  fame  is  left  for  human  deeds 

In  endless  age  ?    It  rests  with  God. 


W.  K. 


September  1904. 


CONTENTS 


TAQM 

THOMAS  CAELYLE 1 

PEEDERICK  DENISON  MAURICE 29 

ALFRED  TENNYSON 46 

ROBERT  BROWNING 69 

JAMES  MARTINEAU 102 

ARTHUR  STANLEY Ui 

MATTHEW  ARNOLD    .                198 

W.  E.  GLADSTONE 205 

WILLIAM  DAVIES 212 

JAMES  SMETHAM 245 

WHITWELL  ELWIN 268 

ANNA  SWANWICK 276 

J.  HENRY  SHORTHOUSE 294 


RETROSPECTS 


THOMAS  GABLYLE 

It  is  more  than  forty  years  since  1  first  met  Carlyle, 
the  sage  of  Chelsea.  It  was  at  that  delightful  home 
of  happy  memories — Linlathen  House  in  Forfarshire — 
where  Thomas  Erskine  used  to  gather  round  him,  and 
ask  his  friends  to  meet,  such  men  as  Carlyle,  Maurice, 
Kingsley,  Arthur  Stanley,  McLeod  Campbell,  Bishop 
Ewing,  and  other  kindred  spirits.  We  sat  in  the 
house,  or  walked  in  the  grounds  and  by  the  sea-coast 
at  Monifieth,  while  our  genial  Socrates  talked  in  his 
marvellous  way  of  many  persons  and  things ;  his 
conversation  being  often  a  continued  series  of  meteoric 
flashes,  splendours  of  the  imagination  blending  with 
rapier  thrusts  of  logic,  incisive  criticism  of  contem- 
porary men,  and  discursive  commentary  on  all  things 
human  and  divine. 

One  warm  autumn  afternoon  we  were  sitting  under 
the  shade  of  a  noble  tree,  when  a  man  whom  I  knew 
slightly  came  up  on  his  way  to  the  house,  and  asked 
to  be  presented  to  '  his  oracle,'  as  he  put  it.  So  soon  as 
the  formal  introduction  was  over,  Carlyle  said  to  him, 

I.  B 


/r? 


2  RETEOSPECTS 

*  Well,  Sir  !  and  where  in  the  universe  are  you  working  ?  * 
The  grip  of  the  question  so  astonished  the  stranger  that 
he  could  give  no  coherent  answer,  and  soon  departed. 

There  was  a  different  tone  in  Carlyle's  talk  when 
he  was  a  guest  at  Linlathen  from  what  it  was  in  his 
own  London  home.  Not  that  there  was  the  smallest 
inconsistency  between  them  ;  but,  in  his  friend's  house 
in  the  north,  with  its  atmosphere  of  radiant  gracious- 
ness,  he  seemed  more  full  of  reverence.  He  was  im- 
pressed, to  a  larger  extent  perhaps  than  others  were, 
by  the  genial  dignity  of  our  host  and  the  elevation 
of  his  character,  which  so  guided  conversation  that  it 
was  almost  invariably  directed  into  channels  where  the 
current  flowed  clear,  and  strong,  and  bright.  There  were 
few  wayward  digressions  in  the  talk  of  the  breakfast  or 
dinner  table  at  Linlathen.  It  was  not  that  any  subject 
was  tahoOf  and  the  variety  of  topics  introduced  was 
remarkable;  but  the  trivial  and  the  gossipy  had  not 
time  to  live,  and  what  was  *  of  the  earth,  earthy, '  was 
extinguished  in  the  most  natural  manner.  The  social 
atmosphere  of  that  household  made  weak  natures  strong, 
and  noble  ones  nobler  for  the  time  being.  And  the 
effect  of  Erskine's  presence  on  Carlyle  was  that  the  con- 
versation of  the  latter,  while  he  was  a  guest,  became 
more  many-sided,  joyous,  and  iridescent. 

For  some  years  after  first  meeting  him  in  Forfarshire 
I  had  the  pleasure  of  spending  occasional  hours  at 
Carlyle's  house  in  Cheyne  Row ;  and  it  is  of  that  London 
home  of  his  that  the  majority  of  those  who  knew  him 
have  the  most  abiding  memories.    When  the  inspired 


THOMAS   CAELYLE  3 

mood  was  his,  he  used  to  discourse  at  large,  his  face — 
with  the  small  red  apple  in  the  cheek,  which  remained  rosy 
till  his  latest  year— becoming  more  eloquently  expressive 
as  the  monologue  went  on ;  and  his  words  sometimes  as 
musical  *  as  the  voice  of  many  waters.'  I  have  heard  him 
pour  forth  a  continuous  stream  of  impassioned  declama- 
tion for  more  than  an  hour  at  a  time ;  and  so  keen  were 
his  characterisations,  so  felicitous  his  arrow-shots  of 
criticism,  so  rich  his  satire,  so  intense  his  patriotic 
sympathy  with  all  that  belonged  to  national  life  and  cha- 
racter, that  no  listener  could  wish  the  wonderful  utterance 
to  cease.  The  only  desire  possible  was  that  Carlyle 
should  have  had  some  one  associated  with  him,  resembling 
Boswell  in  his  relation  to  Johnson.  I  once  tried  to  write 
out  a  conversation  of  his  at  some  length,  but  in  vain.  It 
was  such  a  torrent  of  felicitous  criticism — with  fireworks 
of  the  fancy  and  imagination  combined — that  no  one 
but  a  shorthand  reporter  could  have  taken  it  down; 
and  if  anyone  had  ventured  to  do  so  in  his  presence, 
the  conversation  would  have  either  ceased  or  changed. 
Dean  Stanley,  however,  once  read  to  me  at  Westminster 
his  memoranda  of  a  long  conversation  he  had  with 
Carlyle,  extending  to  more  than  forty  pages  of  a  note- 
book, which  reproduced  the  Socratic  talker  in  so  realistic 
a  fashion  that  it  is  a  great  loss  to  posterity  that  the  MS. 
has  disappeared.  I  asked  three  men  who  perhaps  knew 
the  Dean  best,  and  who  were  successively  asked  to  write 
his  life— Sir  George  Grove,  Theodore  Walrond,  and  Dean 
Bradley— if  they  had  ever  seen  it.  They  had  not,  and  no 
trace  of  it  now  survives. 

B  2 


4  EETKOSPECTS 

I  have  only  one  thing  to  record  of  Mrs.  Carlyle.  I 
had  been  spending  the  afternoon  with  her  husband  in  the 
upper  room — half  drawing-room,  half  library — and  we 
came  down  to  the  dining-room  to  smoke.  Carlyle  used 
then  to  keep  a  collection  of  long  churchwarden  pipes  at 
the  corner  of  this  room  by  the  fire  ;  and  when  a  visitor 
who  smoked  came  in,  he  would  hand  him  one  with  the 
remark  *  See  if  it  has  got  breath.  Sir '  (meaning,  was  the 
pipe-stem  clear  to  draw  the  smoke  from  the  bowl). 
We  were  sitting  in  the  *  golden  silence'  he  loved  so 
much,  and  yet  ignored  so  often,  when  Mrs.  Carlyle 
entered.  I  was  struck  by  her  gracious  air.  That  after- 
noon it  was  most  gracious.  She  was  preparing  tea, 
when  her  husband  made  a  disparaging  remark  on  one 
of  our  modern  writers ;  and  she  said,  with  the  utmost 
naiveUy  *  Oh,  Tom,  you're  so  eccentric'  *  Yes ' 
exclaimed — I  may  say  growled — her  husband  ;  *  Yes, 
hut  can  you  find  my  centre  ?  ' 

Carlyle  was  often  unjust  to  his  contemporaries, 
especially  to  Darwin,  and  to  the  work  and  aim  of  those 
who  led  the  band  in  the  great  scientific  renaissance  of 
the  nineteenth  century.  He  was  once  speaking  about 
Darwin,  in  the  broad  Scottish  dialect  into  which  he  often 
relapsed  when  conversing  with  a  Scotsman.  He  said : 
*  I  think  that  they  scienteefic  men  must  expect  God 
Almighty  to  come  to  them  some  fine  mornin,  and  gie 
them  a  patent  to  make  a  warld  ;  they  seem  sae  curious 
to  know  how  this  one  was  made.'  I  humbly  ventured 
to  say  that  I  thought  him  unjust  to  Darwin,  and  was 
trying  to  explain  what  I  considered  the  chief  point  in 


THOMAS  CAKLYLE  5 

Darwin's  magnificent  scientific  theory.  He  at  once  inter- 
posed :  *  Maister  Darwin  is  no  better  than  John  Mull ' 
[Mill]  *  or  Maister  Herbert  Spencer :  they're  a'  magneefi- 
cent  asses  ! '  We  had  been  talking  of  Mill  and  Herbert 
Spencer  beforehand.  It  was  reported  to  him  that,  when 
Mill  was  asked  what  he  thought  of  a  certain  political 
problem,  he  replied,  *  Well,  this  is  my  opinion  [giving 
it  in  a  sentence] ;  but,  you  see,  I  must  consult  my  con- 
stituents.' Carlyle  said,  *  Did  John  Mull  say  that  ?  a 
wake  cratur,  John  Mull ;  a  varra  wake  cratur  ! ' 

He  asked  me  much  about  what  was  going  on  in 
the  North,  about  Scottish  life  and  character ;  and  was 
curious  to  know  whether  the  religious  customs  of  his 
youth  continued  among  the  peasantry.  *  Do  the  Scotch 
folk  keep  up  the  guid  auld  practice  of  family- worship  ? ' 
I  said  I  thought  it  less  common  than  it  used  to  be. 
He  replied,  *  So  much  the  worse  for  Scotland.  I  re- 
member, in  my  young  days,  when  you  could  hear  in 
every  cottage  in  Ecclefechan — aye  and  even  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Edinburgh —in  the  early  morning  or 
late  evening  some  psalm -singing,  and  the  reading  of  the 
Book.'  He  then  lapsed  into  a  long  and  somewhat 
fantastic  praise  of  Calvinism ;  and  when  I  suggested 
that  there  might  be  another  side  to  the  question,  he  said 
sternly — *  There  is  no  other  side.  It's  Calvinism  that 
makes  heroes.  It  made  Oliver,  and  there  never  was 
a  greater  hero  than  Oliver.'  It  was  impossible  for  a 
youth  to  discuss  the  merits  of  Cromwell  with  his  arch- 
apologist  ! 

He  used  to   be  terribly  plagued   by  lion-hunters, 


6  KETKOSPECTS 

autograph-collectors,  and  interviewers.  I  remember  his 
once  telling  me  that  an  American  had  called,  and  asked 
to  see  him.  He  was  informed  by  a  servant  that  Mr. 
Carlyle  was  dining.  *  Oh  but  I  must  see  him,'  was  the 
reply ;  *  I  have  come  all  the  way  from  New  York  to  do  so.' 
He  was  asked  to  call  at  another  time;  but  he  would 
neither  go  away,  nor  promise  to  return.  So  Carlyle  rose 
from  dinner,  went  to  the  door,  and  said  to  the  stranger, 

*  Well,  sir,  and  what  can  I  do  for  you  ? '     The  reply  was, 

*  Mr.  Carlyle,  I  have  just  come  from  New  York,  and  I 

want  to  send  to  the newspaper  your  opinions  of  our 

civil  war,  and  of  a  book  upon  it  which  has  just  appeared 
across  the  water.'  Carlyle  said  to  me,  *  I'm  not  accus- 
tomed to  do  rude  things,  and  I  try  to  "  suffer  fools  gladly," 
but  I  just  slammed  the  door  in  that  fellow's  face.' 

There  are  delightful  stories  of  his  visits  to  Fifeshire 
— when  he  came  as  the  honoured  guest  of  his  old  friend. 
Provost  Swan  of  Kirkcaldy — which  I  tried  (many  years 
ago)  to  induce  Mr.  Froude  to  incorporate  in  his  *Ke- 
miniscences.'  I  was  indebted  to  Mr.  Swan  for  them. 
One  was  the  story  of  his  conducting  family  worship  one 
night,  by  his  own  request,  in  the  Provost's  house,  and 
reading  aloud  one  half  of  the  Book  of  Job,  till  all  the 
domestic  servants  had  fallen  asleep ;  and  apologising 
for  it  afterwards,  *  because  I  had  not  read  that  Eliphaz 
the  Temanite  for  a  long  time,  and  he  was  varra  in- 
teresting.' Another  was  his  visit  to  the  room — then  a 
factory- store — in  which,  as  a  young  man,  he  had  taught 
mathematics  and  Latin  at  Kirkcaldy ;  when  he  looked 
round,  and  said,  *  Aye,  there's  where  sat,  and 


THOMAS   CAKLYLE  7 

there's  where  Miss sat,  and  this  is  the  room  in 

which  I  tried  to  teach  those  boys  and  girls  Latin  and 
Mathematics.  Dear  me,  what  a  bad  teacher  I  must 
have  been  !  How  strange  it  all  is  to  me  now ! '  He  was 
taken  to  see  a  new  Board  School  in  the  Lang  Toon, 
The  teacher,  apprised  beforehand  of  the  visit,  had 
arranged  that  the  pupils  would  sing  some  hymns  in 
honour  of  it.  Carlyle  listened,  and  then  said,  *But 
can't  ye  sing  some  of  Bobbie  Burns's  sangs  ? '  The 
teacher  had  to  tell  him  that  he  feared  they  could  not. 
Then,  lifting  up  his  hands,  he  said,  *  Oh !  Scotland, 
Scotland !  and  has  it  come  to  this,  that  yer  bairns 
canna  sing  Bobbie  Burns's  sangs  ! ' 

There  had  been  an  exposure  in  the  newspapers  of  some 
great  scandal  in  the  matter  of  Government  contracts; 
bad  work,  entailing  disaster,  and  shoddy  supplies,  lead- 
ing to  loss  of  life.  I  think  it  was  certain  army- contracts 
for  the  supply  of  shoes,  sent  out  to  our  soldiers  in  the 
Crimea ;  although  it  happened  half  a  dozen  years  before 
I  heard  his  version  of  it.  Carlyle  told  the  story,  and 
said,  *  I  think  we  need  some  Hebrew  prophet  to  come 
amongst  us,  to  rend  his  clothes,  and  put  on  sackcloth, 
and  scatter  ashes,  and  go  up  and  down  in  this  great 
Babylon  of  ours,  and  cry  aloud,  "Oh  ye  manufacturers 
of  shoddy,  either  some  of  you  must  die  for  this,  or  I 
must  die  for  you." ' 

Carlyle  once  gave  to  Mr.  Blunt,  the  late  rector  of 
Chelsea,  some  recollections  of  his  childhood,  which  that 
kind  rector  handed  on  to  me.  Speaking  of  the  pious 
care  of  his  mother,  and  the  lessons  she  had  taught  him, 


8  KETEOSPECTS 

he  said  that  he  was  once  left  alone  on  a  cold  snowy  day 
to  take  care  of  the  cottage,  while  his  parents  had  gone 
to  the  nearest  market  town  to  buy  provisions.  A  miser- 
able half-starved  beggar  came  to  the  door,  and  his  heart 
was  at  once  touched  by  the  sight  of  such  abject  misery. 
*I  had  saved  up,'  said  Carlyle,  *in  a  small  earthen 
thrift-pot  all  the  pennies  that  had  been  given  to  me, 
and  kept  it  safely  on  the  high  shelf  over  the  fireplace  : 
and  I  well  remember  climbing  up,  and  getting  it  down, 
and  breaking  it  open  that  I  might  give  all  its  contents 
to  the  poor  wretch/  He  added,  *  I  never  knew  before 
what  the  joy  of  heaven  must  be.'  Thus  early  at  any 
rate  did  the  boy  learn  that  it  was  *  more  blessed  to  give 
than  to  receive.' 

A  somewhat  curious  reminiscence  is  of  Carlyle's  one 
interview  with  her  late  gracious  Majesty  Queen  Victoria. 
It  was  one  of  Dean  Stanley's  delightful  audacities  that 
he  effected  an  interview  between  Carlyle  and  the  Queen. 
On  that  occasion  he  collected  several  living  specimens 
of  genius,  all  of  whom  he  thought  should  be  introduced 
to  her  Majesty.  The  meeting  was  at  the  Deanery  of 
Westminster.  Soon  afterwards,  as  Carlyle  was  plodding 
his  solitary  way  towards  Cheyne  Kow,  Mr.  Blunt  made 
up  to  him,  and  said,  *  What  did  you  think  of  the  Queen, 
Mr.  Carlyle?'  *  Well,'  he  replied,  *no  one  could  see 
her  without  perceiving  that  she  was  the  greatest  Lady 
in  the  land.  She  came  into  the  room  with  such  a  grace 
as  no  other  lady  ever  had.'  *  And  how  did  you  get  on 
with  her  ?  '  *  Ah  !  well,  I  don't  know.  I  said  to  her 
that  I  was  an  old  man,  and  would  she  permit  me  to  sit 


THOMAS  CAELYLE  9 

down  ?  I  think  she  didn't  quite  like  it ;  but  I  could 
not  stand  up  in  that  room,  like  a  pump-handle,  just  to 
be  pumped  out.'  'But  what  did  she  say  to  you?' 
*Well,  she  praised  my  country  and  its  people  very 
much.  I  felt  sure  she  would  do  that,  and  I  said,  "  Well, 
they  are  just  like  other  folks,  neither  better  nor  worse 
than  the  rest  of  your  Majesty's  subjects." '  *  Do  you 
think  she  had  read  any  of  your  books,  Mr.  Carlyle  ?  ' 
*  No,  I  don't  suppose  she  had  read  much  of  anyone's 
books.  I  don't  think  she  was  a  great  reader.  She  had 
many  more  important  things  to  do  than  reading  any- 
one's books.'  From  this  account  of  the  conversation  by 
Carlyle  himself,  Mr.  Blunt  gathered  that  it  had  been  a 
short  one ;  and  he  heard  afterwards  that  the  good  Dean 
— who  had  been  watching  the  interview — saw  that  things 
were  not  progressing  very  easily,  and  so  he  brought  up 
some  other  of  his  live  specimens  of  genius,  and  released 
Carlyle  from  what  was  evidently  a  somewhat  strained 
position.  Although  little  progress  had  been  made, 
the  old  man  was  genuinely  and  deeply  impressed  by  the 
majestic  grace  of  the  Queen,  unequalled  by  that  of  any 
other  lady  he  had  seen,  and  he  was  a  good  judge  of 
character.  Some  time  afterwards,  Mr.  Blunt  asked  Dean 
Stanley  how  things  had  gone  on  at  the  interview.  He 
only  laughed  and  shook  his  head ;  as  though  the  remem- 
brance was  not  quite  satisfactory.  I  may  add  that 
Carlyle  never  did  justice  to  Stanley,  or  to  his  party  in 
the  Church  of  England.  He  once  said  in  sardonic 
fashion,  *  Eh,  the  Dean  !  he's  a  man  who  just  gets  drunk 
on  toast  and  water ! ' 


10  EETEOSPECTS 

Talking  of  Gladstone  and  Disraeli  (Lord  Beacons- 
field)  both  of  whom  he  rather  disliked — Gladstone  for 
his  verbosity,  and  Disraeli  for  the  tinsel  which  was 
round  about  him— he  said,  *I  don't  know  that  Dizzy 
has  got  a  conscience.  Gladdy  has  a  conscience,  but  he 
just  turns  it  any  way  he  has  a  stomach  to,  and  im- 
mediately thinks  it  a  call  from  God  !     Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! ' 

Of  the  Duke  of  Wellington  he  said :  *  I  had  never 
heard  the  Duke  speak,  and  I  thought  I  would  like  to 
hear  him :  there's  a  sort  of  physiognomy  in  a  man's 
voice,  you  know.  I  got  an  order  for  the  House  of  Lords, 
and  I  went  in.  Brougham  spoke  for  a  long  time,  but  he 
was  just  like  a  hurdy-gurdy  wound  up.  On  he  went, 
but  never  a  bit  did  I  know  what  he  was  speaking  about. 
Then  some  others  got  up,  and  talked  away,  without 
throwing  any  light  on  the  subject.  Presently  the  Duke 
got  up.  He  spoke  in  short  disjointed  sentences,  and 
only  for  about  ten  minutes ;  but  he  made  the  whole 
thing  as  clear  as  daylight.  It  was  just  like  a  man 
scratching  a  thing  out  on  the  wall— so  clear  it  was.' 

I  have  already  quoted  what  he  said  to  me  about 
John  Stuart  Mill.  The  following  was  said  to  a  Scots 
friend :  *  John  Mull  wrote  a  book  on  Leeherty.  What 
is  there  to  say  about  it  ?  I  can  think  what  I  like,  and 
say  what  I  like,  and  do  what  I  like :  and  no  one  can 
prevent  me.  What  more  leeberty  do  I  need,  or  want  ? 
Whoo-oo ! ' 

Of  De  Quincey  he  said,  *  The  first  time  I  met  De 
Quincey  I  thought  he  was  the  most  beautiful  talker  I  had 
ever  listened  to.    When  he  went  away,  I  said  to  myself 


THOMAS  CAELYLE  11 

**  I  would  just  like  to  have  that  man  in  a  box,  and  bring 
him  out  whenever  I  wanted.    Ha  !  ha !  ha  ! '" 

In  the  following  story  the  humour  did  not  compen- 
sate for  the  extraordinary  anti- scientific  bias.  Dining 
at  Lord  Ashburton's,  soon  after  Darwin's  doctrine  of 
pangenesis  was  published,  the  conversation  turned  to 
this  subject.  After  talk  had  gone  on  for  some  time, 
Carlyle — who  had  up  to  then  kept  silence — broke  in 
thus  :  *  Darwin  says,  God  made  man  a  little  higher  than 
the  tadpoles.  I  prefer  David's  version  of  it,  that  He 
made  him  a  little  lower  than  the  angels.' 

From  1860  onwards  his  appearance  in  the  streets  of 
London  was  that  of  a  countryman  who  had  entirely 
disregarded  appearances,  and  only  consulted  comfort. 
He  was  constantly  seen  walking  along  the  Chelsea 
streets,  or  journeying  in  an  omnibus,  but  he  very  seldom 
took  notice  of  persons  or  things.  The  following  will 
recall  an  earlier  story:  *  Excuse  me,  Sir,'  said  an 
American — who  had  been  lingering  for  some  time  in  the 
vicinity  of  Cheyne  Kow,  in  order  if  possible  to  see 
Carlyle  come  out  of  his  house — *  excuse  me  looking  at 
you.  Sir,  for  I  have  travelled  four  thousand  miles  to  do 
so.'  *  Look  on,  man,'  said  Carlyle.  *  It  will  do  me  no 
harm,  and  you  no  good.'  And  so  saying,  he  went  slowly 
on  his  solitary  walk. 

On  receiving  a  book  recording  the  talk  of  an  old 
teacher  of  his  correspondent  he  said :  '  I  see  here  a 
valiant  and  valorous  man,  pursuing  his  way  in  the  mirk, 
again  with  his  foot  on  the  rock,  or  thinking  that  it  is 
there ;   his  eye  mostly  turned  to  the  light.    It's  clear 


12  EETEOSPECTS 

that  he  can't  put  up  with  shams,  or  makeshifts,  in  the 
matter  of  beHef ;  and  that's  a  great  thing  when  you  are 
on  the  roadway,  even  if  there  are  no  guide-posts.'  Of 
another  volume  he  sent  to  me  this  verdict  in  1870: 
*  I  find  in  this  little  book  many  traces  of  serious  and 
vigorous  original  thought,  the  like  of  which  is  always 
valuable  and  interesting  to  serious  persons,  in  whatso- 
ever dialect  it  runs.' 

On  one  occasion  a  visitor  had  been  praising  Newman's 
Apologia  for  its  acumen,  its  subtlety  and  remorseless 
logic.  *Kingsley,'  said  Carlyle,  'had  the  best  of  the 
argument ' ;  and  he  added,  *  John  Henry  Newman 
is  a  very  clever  man,  but  he  has  got  some  palpable 
mendacities  in  his  intellect,  and  he  seems  to  me  to  say, 
"  With  these  I  will  face  the  Eternal."  '  He  was  alto- 
gether unjust  to  Newman. 

His  conversation  was  often  in  short  swallow-flights, 
and  was  strangely  digressive ;  all  the  more  because  of 
that  it  would  come  round  and  round  again,  without 
being  repetition,  to  what  was  fundamental  in  human 
nature.  He  had  a  vast  fund  of  occasionally  misdirected 
sympathy,  and  an  equally  vast  one  of  antipathy ;  but 
his  antipathetic  tendency  was  towards  the  thousands 
whom  he  described  as  *  mostly  fools,'  and  the  shafts  of 
his  satire  were  turned  against  the  evils  and  the  tumults 
of  our  time.  The  wrongs  under  which  humanity  suffers 
affected  him  acutely,  and  led  to  a  savage  denunciation  of 
all  oppressors.  But  the  storm  of  his  wrath  did  not  fall 
on  one  class  only.  Wherever  tyranny  or  iniquity  met 
his  eye,  the  old  Hebraic  wrath  against  evil  seemed  to 


THOMAS   CAKLYLE  13 

burst  forth  from  him.  It  was  S(Bva  indignatio,  im- 
petuous, absorbing,  consuming.  Underneath  even  his 
calmest  moods  there  was  always  the  possibility  of  a 
volcanic  outburst  against  unveracity  of  any  kind,  while 
he  had  the  finest  eye  of  appreciation  for  merit  every- 
where. One  always  felt  that  the  lightning  of  his  wrath, 
and  the  loud  thunder  of  his  invective,  proceeded  from 
a  really  gentle  and  tender  spirit.  But  his  all-dominant 
admiration  for  strength,  for  robustness  of  fibre,  moral 
grit,  and  tenacity  of  purpose  often  obscured  this.  It  is 
a  calumny  to  say  that  Carlyle  identified  might  with 
right.  In  his  books,  and  in  all  his  talk,  he  differentiated 
them,  to  use  Jeremy  Collier's  phrase,  *  by  the  whole 
diameter  of  being ' ;  but  he  held  that  they  coincided  in 
the  long  run.  It  was  because  Might  was  a  revelation  of 
Law  and  Order,  alike  in  cosmic  force  and  Bismarckian 
policy,  that  he  habitually  glorified  strength.  *  Isn't 
Eight  omnipotent  ? '  he  once  said.  The  reply  was, 
*  Always  in  the  long  run,  but  it  often  takes  time,  for, 
as  one  has  said, 

Though  the  mills  of  God  grind  slowly, 

Yet  they  grmd  exceeding  small.' ' 

VYes,  yes,'  he  answered,  *but  it's  the  end  I  look  to,  the 
conclusion  of  the  whole  matter,  which  is  this,  that  these 
two  things  are  one,  or  are  to  be  so  in  time.' 

As  an  illustration  of  the  way  in  which  he  passed 
rapidly  from  theme  to  theme,  on  the  day  when  he  talked 
of  the  Apologia,  he  suddenly  went  aside  to  glorify  a  life 

*  See  the  Sinnegedichte  of  Friedrich  von  Logau  (1650),  translated 
by  Longfellow. 


14  EETEOSPECTS 

of  toil.  He  insisted  on  the  need  of  steady  *  rhythmic 
drill '  for  all  our  peasantry  and  operative  workers.  He 
said  he  had  himself  toiled  in  a  sort  of  groove  all  his 
life,  but  it  was  a  wholesome  one.  It  had  light  in  it, 
and  good  air ;  and  he  thanked  Heaven  that  he  had  been 
compelled  to  work  in  it.  He  said,  *  I  once  thought  that 
if  a  blessed  millennium  of  work  set  in,  hard  homely 
honest  work  for  all,  everyone  might  be  able  to  live  on  a 
penny  a  day.  I  don't  think  that  now.  It  was  a  dream 
of  my  youth.'  At  another  time  he  said,  *I've  some- 
times thought  that  if  most  of  the  copies  of  the  Bible  were 
burnt,  or  all  of  them  buried  for  a  time,  and  that  then  a 
reprinting  of  it  took  place,  after  people  had  tried  to  get 
on  with  miserable  substitutes,  there  would  be  a  universal 
demand  for  it  all  the  world  over.  But  now  it  is  so  cari- 
catured and  transmogrified  by  critics  and  interpreters — 
each  with  his  own  "  note  of  doctrine,"  his  own  egotism — 
that  a  plain  honest  man  cannot  get  at  its  meaning ; 
that  is,  if  he  pays  heed  to  the  scribes,  who  are  blind 
leaders  of  the  blind.  But,  Sir,  that  book  is  still  the 
oracle  of  the  world.  I  said  the  other  day  to  a  fellow 
who  was  parading  its  old-fashionedness,  "  What  ails  ye 
at  the  Bible  ?  It's  the  best  book  that  ever  was,  or  is, 
however  it  came  to  be  written  ;  and  that's  what  neither 
you  nor  I  can  fathom  just  now."  I  don't  think  it's 
easily  found  out.  But,  bless  me,  why  shouldn't  people 
try?  They're  trying  to  find  out  who  wrote  Homer; 
and,  if  they  succeed  with  the  Iliads  why  shouldn't  they 
find  out  who  wrote  Genesis,  or  Isaiah  ? ' 

Carlyle  did  not  often  talk  of  the  ultimata  of  belief  ; 


THOMAS  CAKLYLE  15 

but  when  he  did,  it  was  obvious  that  to  him — as  to  the 
Jews  of  old — the  essence  or  principle  at  the  root  of 
all  things  was  both  dark  and  bright,  unknown  and  yet 
well-known,  inscrutable  in  essence  but  evidenced  by  its 
outcome.  Matter  had  not  created  mind,  although  it 
mirrored  it ;  but,  after  all  our  sounding  in  the  depths, 
the  unknown  and  unknowable  was  as  certain  as  the 
known. 

However,  he  once  said,  *  I  have  for  a  long  time  given 
up  the  argle-bargle  of  metaphysics,  with  its  jargonings, 
and  hair-splittings,  and  general  dreariness.  It's  a  big 
desert.  I  once  cared  for  it,  and  wandered  in  it  awhile  ; 
but  ey,  mon,  it's  an  awfu'  obscure  country.  Have  you 
been  in  it  ? '  I  said,  *  Not  professionally,^  but  to  me  it  is 
the  radical  quarter,  whence  comes  all  our  knowledge  of 
other  things.'  *  What  do  you  say  ?  The  radical  quarter ! 
Well,  that's  a  good  phrase,  but  it's  not  true,  as  regards 
metaphysics  and  the  metaphysicians.  They  argle-bargle, 
I  say ;  they  chatter,  I  say ;  and  they're  all  "  voices  crying 
in  the  wilderness,"  voces  et  prceterea  nihil.'  Here  I 
ventured  to  interpose,  and  said  that  one  of  the  chief  uses 
of  Philosophy  was  to  compel  us  to  think  *  clare  et  dis- 
tincte,'  as  Descartes  put  it,  and  to  define  our  words. 
He  then  said  he  could  make  some  exceptions,  and  that 
he  preferred  the  German  metaphysics  to  all  the  rest. 
He  spoke  of  Kant  with  enthusiasm,  *  the  grand  modern 
Stoic,'  and  with  almost  equal  regard  of  *  that  great  good 
man  Fichte,'  but  not  of  his  system.    '  Now  don't  you  get 

^  This  was  six  years  before  I  became  a   University  professor  of 
Philosophy. 


16  EETEOSPECTS 

more  from  Goethe  than  from  Kant,  and  from  Schiller 
than  from  Fichte,  and  from  Jean  Paul  than  from  Schel- 
ling  ? '  *  No,'  I  said,  '  I  don't.  Others  may ;  but,  when 
we  are  in  search  of  first  principles,  we  must  surely  go 
to  the  philosophers  who  are  at  the  fountain-head.  Was 
not  Socrates  greater  than  any  "literary  man"?'  *Well, 
well,'  he  replied  *  it  may  be  so  ;  but  your  "  metaphysics  " 
ha.ve  no  more  any  interest  for  me.' 

'  By  the  way  there  was  a  great  strong  countryman  of 
yours,  of  ours  I  should  say,  who  came  up  here  to  work 
as  I  did,  and  worked  well,  John  Downes.  I  think  he 
edited  your  Encyclopcedia  Britannica  in  Edinburgh.' 

*  Sub-edited  it,'  I  replied,  '  which  was  a  harder  task 
than  to  edit  it.'  *  Well,'  he  said,  *  that  good  man  came 
to  see  me.  I  thought  him  as  fine  a  sample  of  Scotland 
as  I  had  seen  since  I  left  it.  He  was  from  the  south 
country,  from  Wigtonshire  I  think.  He  was  one  of 
Nature's  self-sown  modest  gentlemen.'    *  But,'  I  replied, 

*  he  was  a  philosopher,  a  metaphysician.  His  best  work 
for  the  EncyclopcBdia  was  on  Philosophy,  on  Spinoza 
&c.  Do  you  know  he  has  passed  away  ? '  He  paused, 
and  looked  straight  out  of  his  wonderfully  clear  eye, 
and  said,  *  Is  it  so  ? '     *  Yes,  and  he  has  left  a  widow.' 

*  Who  is  looking  after  her  ? '  he  asked.  I  said,  *  A  distant 
relative  of  your  own,  Mr.  Gavin  Carlyle,  a  Presbyterian 
minister  in  Town.'  '  I  am  glad  of  that,  I  am  glad  of 
that.     She  will  be  well  cared  for.' 

At  Cheyne  Kow  I  met  several  of  Carlyle's  friends, 
Ruskin  amongst  them ;  and  on  one  occasion,  when  he 
and  the  Provost  of  Kirkcaldy,  Mr.  Patrick  Swan,  were 


THOMAS  CAELYLE  17 

there,  as  we  were  about  to  leave,  Euskin  asked  us 
to  accompany  him  in  his  carriage,  if  our  abodes  lay 
on  his  way,  as  the  evening  was  wet.  I  remember 
only  one  thing  that  happened.  Mr.  Swan  said  to 
Euskin,  '  Do  you  think  that  our  friend  is  all  safe  for 
the  future  ? '  *  What  do  you  mean  ?  '  said  Euskin.  *  I 
mean  safe  when  he  dies,  with  all  these  opinions  of  his.' 

*  I  think,  Mr.  Swan,'  was  Euskin's  reply,  *  we  had  better 
leave  that  to  God  Almighty.' 

I  am  not  sure  that  the  following  stories  have  found 
their  way  into  print.  Carlyle  had  his  shoes  made  at 
Ecclefechan,  because  he  had   failed  to  be  adequately 

*  fitted '  in  London.  On  one  occasion  his  Dumfries -shire 
supply  fell  short,  and  he  had  to  take  what  he  could  get 
from  a  local  tradesman.  He  found  them  satisfactory, 
and  wrote  and  signed  a  letter  to  the  Chelsea  shopman 
in  which  he  said  that  he  had  at  last  found  a  good 
honest  workman.  The  shoemaker  lost  no  time  in 
framing  the  letter,  and  hanging  it  up  in  his  window. 
It  was  said  to  have  brought  him  some  patronage. 

Another  story  is  this :  Carlyle  was  visiting  the 
Ashburtons,  when  the  Bishop  of  Oxford — Samuel 
Wilberforce — was  also  a  guest.  They  both  enjoyed 
exercise  on  horseback,  and  on  one  occasion  had  an 
afternoon  ride  together,  when  mist  came  on  and  made 
it  difficult  to  progress.  When  they  returned  Lady 
Ashburton  inquired  where  they  had  been  and  what 
they  had  done.  *  Oh  ! '  said  the  Bishop,  *  we  were 
enveloped  in  mist.  Mr.  Carlyle  and  I  were  like  the 
spectres  on   the  Brocken,   Faust  and  Mephistopheles. 


18  KETEOSPECTS 

Whereupon  Carlyle  curtly  interjected  :  *  And  which  was 
which  ? ' 

I  owe  the  following  to  the  late  Kector  of  Chelsea : 
*  While  Carlyle  was  writing  the  greater  part  of  his 
Frederick  the  Great,  he  used  to  ride  almost  daily  into 
the  country,  or  in  one  of  the  parks.  About  the  time 
when  he  finished  that  great  work  he  gave  up  riding, 
having  ridden,  as  he  said,  some  20,000  miles,  and 
getting  weary  of  the  trouble  of  it.  So  he  turned  his 
horse  over  to  me,  not  liking  to  sell  it,  as  it  had  been 
given  him  by  Lady  Ashburton.  Thus  "  Frederick  the 
Great,"  as  we  called  the  quadruped,  came  round  to  the 
Bectory  stables,  which  were  close  at  hand ;  and  I  took 
charge  of  him,  on  the  understanding  that  if  Carlyle  ever 
wished  to  ride  him  he  was  to  let  my  man  know,  and 
he  could  bring  the  horse  round.  It  had  been  a  capital 
hack  ;  but  alas  !  it  had  fallen  into  evil  habits,  through 
the  influence  of  its  "  absent-minded  "  master.  Along 
certain  turnings  and  streets  it  utterly  refused  to 
proceed ;  and  having  been  allowed  always  to  have  its 
own  way,  it  resented  any  difference  of  opinion  between 
itself  and  its  rider.  Those  who  had  often  seen  Carlyle 
riding  across  Clapham  Common  frequently  saw  the 
horse  grazing  along  the  edge  of  the  road,  with  the  reins 
hanging  loose  on  its  neck ;  and  Carlyle  sitting  deep  in 
meditation,  until  "  Frederick  the  Great "  was  persuaded 
to  move  on.  I  forget,'  says  Mr.  Blunt,  *  how  long  I 
kept  the  horse ;  but  I  remember  that  it  was  ultimately 
sent  back  to  Lady  Ashburton,  to  enjoy  an  honourable 
and  of  life  in  a  comfortable  paddock.' 


THOMAS  CAKLYLE  19 

Our  common  physician-friend,  Dr.  Maclagan,  wrote 
to  me  thus :  *  My  personal  experience  of  Carlyle  was 
this.  He  was  the  most  courteous  man  I  ever  met. 
Never  once  did  that  old  man  fail  to  rise  up  to  receive 
me,  nor  allow  me  to  leave  his  room  without  walking  to 
the  door  with  me,  while  he  had  strength  to  do  so.  After 
death  all  the  ruggedness  and  the  wrinkles  disappeared 
from  his  face.  But  for  the  beard,  it  was  like  that  of  a 
woman,  so  delicately  and  beautifully  moulded  it  was.' 

I  think  that  there  were  more  interesting  English 
conversationalists  than  Carlyle  in  the  nineteenth  century 
— men  who  were  not  autocratic  monopolists  of  talk, 
or  so  intensely  dominant  that,  when  the  torrent-rush 
commenced,  they  did  not  understand  the  gracious  gift 
of  *  give  and  take  '  (and  some  of  these  will  be  referred 
to  in  another  section  of  this  book).  Nevertheless,  in  his 
best  hours  of  colloquial  oratory  and  controversial  lam- 
pooning, Carlyle  was  absolutely  supreme ;  so  opulent,  as 
already  said,  in  his  use  of  adjectives,  so  varied  in  the  art 
of  bringing  out  of  his  treasury  incisive  nouns,  so  tren- 
chant in  his  use  of  adverbs,  so  picturesque  in  all  his 
sentences,  and  home-thrusting  in  his  satire  and  his 
verdicts.  But  with  all  this  multitudinous  and  at  times 
dazzling  brilliance,  there  was  also  a  (perhaps  uncon- 
scious) self-assertion  which  took  the  form  of  a  desire 
for  deference.  I  never  felt  that  he  spoke — as  Tennyson, 
Browning,  Maurice,  Martineau,  Ruskin,  and  Newman 
usually  did— in  independence  of  his  listeners,  or  with- 
out care  for  their  verdicts. 

He  once  admitted  to  me  that  his  high  appreciation 

c  2 


20  KETKOSPECTS 

of  Mathematics,  and  his  under-estimate  of  Philosophy, 
were  due  to  the  circumstances  of  his  own  university 
education ;  *  and  doesn't  that  account,'  he  added,  *  for 
much  in  all  our  lives  ? '  I  recalled  the  fact  which  many 
had  forgotten,  that  in  his  young  manhood  he  had  been 
a  candidate  for  a  chair  of  Philosophy  in  Scotland,  and 
that  Goethe  had  given  him  a  testimonial ;  and  he  said, 
*  What  a  mercy  that  I  didn't  get  it ;  but  Goethe  was 
very  kind.' 

Keferring  once  more  to  his  marvellous  conver- 
sational gift,  I  think  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  owed 
much  of  his  influence  to  it.  It  led  his  contemporaries, 
and  in  fact  all  who  heard  him,  to  be  profoundly 
interested  in  him,  perhaps  even  more  than  their  perusal 
of  his  books  did. 

His  wildly  adverse  judgments  on  those  from  whom  he 
differed  were  more  than  unfortunate.  At  times  he  had 
hardly  a  good  word  to  say  for  any  of  them,  his  diagnosis 
was  so  one-sided.  I  have  mentioned  his  comments  on 
Gladstone,  Disraeli,  and  Darwin.  He  also  ran  down 
Macaulay  and  Hallam,  Thackeray  and  Jane  Austen. 
Great  as  was  my  admiration  of  the  man  I  must  not 
conceal  my  dissent  from  many  of  his  critical  verdicts. 
He  was  full  of  prejudice — steeped  in  it  I  could  say — so 
far  as  the  genius  and  work  of  the  Church  Catholic  are 
concerned.  He  had  a  very  genuine  appreciation  of  moral 
goodness,  especially  in  humble  life  ;  and  the  most  filial 
(although  at  times  an  exclusive)  hero-worship  for  that 
special  type  of  piety  which  had  been  exemplified  by  his 
own  parents.    At  the  same  time,  I  think  he  divined  what 


THOMAS  CAELYLE  21 

was  best  in  the  stern  Calvinism  in  which  they  had  reared 
him.  But,  with  all  his  width  of  vision  and  cosmopolitan 
sympathy,  he  could  not  appreciate  the  work  that  was 
being  done,  and  done  admirably,  by  labourers  in  grooves 
that  really  ran  parallel  to  his  own ;  and  when  that  work 
was  referred  to  he  often  grumbled  and  became  taciturn. 
When  he  was  the  victim  of  dyspepsia  he  positively 
growled  at  many  whom  he  had  met  in  the  flesh, 
especially  if  his  intercourse  with  them  was  like  that 
which  he  had  with  Coleridge  and  Wordsworth. 

I  should  add  that  he  cared  little  for  the  minutiae 
of  scholarship,  which  rather  bored  him,  as  they  bored 
Emerson.  He  had  a  greater  appreciation  for  the  attempt 
made  to  popularise  the  classics  by  good  translations.  He 
once  asked  how  Bohn's  Libraries  of  the  great  writers  were 
esteemed  in  Scotland,  adding  that  in  his  judgment  it 
was  a  most  wonderful  series  of  books.  He  spoke  of 
public  libraries  with  enthusiasm,  asked  his  visitors  if 
they  used  that  in  the  British  Museum,  and,  if  they 
answered  that  they  did  not  use  it  much,  would  say  *  You 
don't  know  what  you  lose.' 

Carlyle's  house  in  Cheyne  Eow  has  been  described  by 
many.  I  may  quote  a  few  sentences  from  Mr.  Keginald 
Blunt's  admirable  account  of  it,  which  was  published  as 
a  postscript  to  his  appeal  on  behalf  of  the  purchase-fund 
in  1894 : 

*  Descending  to  the  basement  there  is  the  dimly  lit 
stone-paved  kitchen,  with  its  still  surviving  pump,  and 
the  broad-barred  open  grate,  where  Mrs.  Carlyle  made 
the  famous  marmalade,  "  pure  as  liquid  amber,  in  taste 


22  EETEOSPECTS 

and   in  look  almost  poetically   delicate " ;   and  where 
Leigh  Hunt's  "  endlessly  admirable  morsel  of   Scotch 
porridge  "  was  stirred  at  the  evening's  close.    On  that 
mantel  stood,  in  early  years,  the  tinder-box  to  which 
Carlyle  had  often  groped  his  way,  when  the  sleepless 
night  became  insufferable,  to  find  flint  and  steel  for  his 
pipe.    Then,  returning  to  the  ground  floor,  is  the  little 
dining-room  and  the  breakfast-room  at  the  back  over- 
looking the  strip  of    weed-grown  garden,  where    the 
troubled  worker  "  delved  to  compose  himself  "  or  "  stayed 
smoking  in  the  back  court  "  through  the  June  night,  "  till 
the  great  dawn  streamed  up "   before  his  eyes.    The 
roomy  stairway,  with  those  beautiful  spiral  balusters  of 
pitch  pine,  which  lend  character  to  so  many  old  Chelsea 
homes,  carries  one  to  the  drawing-room,  "  the  room  she 
gradually  made  so  beautiful  and  comfortable,"  the  "  warm 
little  parlour  "  where  they  two  "  sat  snug  most  evenings 
in  stuffed  chairs  "  ;   which  Mrs.  Carlyle  had  enlarged 
at  the  expense  of  her  own  bedroom,  and  in  which  Carlyle 
himself  died.     Here  are  the  quaint  double  doors  which, 
one  evening  towards  the  end  of  the  long  illness   that 
foreran  the  last,  she  "  suddenly  opened  to  him  in  the 
drawing-room,   leaning  on  her  hazel  staff,  absolutely 
beautiful,  so  gracefully   and   with  such  child-like  joy 
and   triumph,  to    irradiate  his   solitude."     There,   by 
the    comfortably    proportioned    fireplace,    is    the    spot 
where  Carlyle  was  wont  to  sit  on  the  rug,  "  his  back 
against  the  mantel-jamb,   his  wife    reclining    on   the 
sofa,   a  bright  kindly  fire,   candles   hardly  lit,   all  in 
trustful  chiaroscuro^  with  a  pipe  of  tobacco,  and  door 


THOMAS  CAKLYLE  23 

ever  so  little  open,  so  that  all  the  smoke  went  up  the 
chimney.' 

And  what  names  are  associated  with  this  room! 
Leigh  Hunt,  Irving,  John  Stuart  Mill,  Cavaignac,  Baker, 
Erasmus  Darwin,  Owen,  Sterling,  Mazzini,  Emerson, 
Southey,  Tennyson,  John  Forster,  Harriet  Martineau, 
Jeffrey,  Chalmers,  Kingsley,  Spedding,  Bright,  Colenso, 
Tyndall,  Froude  ; — these  are  but  few  of  those  whose  feet 
have  trodden  these  stairs,  whose  voices  these  walls  have 
heard.  To  this  same  adjoining  bedroom,  on  the  after- 
noon of  that  terrible  21st  of  April,  1866,  Mrs.  Carlyle's 
lifeless  form  was  borne  from  her  carriage  after  the  fatal 
drive  ;  hence  she  was  taken  to  her  last  resting-place  *  in 
the  silence  of  the  Abbey  Kirk  at  Haddington.' 

Carlyle  wrote  thus  of  the  house  to  his  wife,  when  she 
became  his,  in  1834  : 

*The  street  is  flag-paved,  sunk-storied,  iron-railed, 
all  old-fashioned  and  tightly  done  up.  The  house  itself 
is  eminently  antique,  wainscoted  to  the  very  ceiling ; 
broadish  stairs  with  massive  balustrades  (in  the  old 
style),  corniced ;  floors  thick  as  a  rock,  with  thrice  the 
strength  of  a  modern  floor.  Then  as  to  rooms  ;  three 
stories  beside  the  sunk  story,  in  every  one  of  them  three 
apartments,  in  depth  something  like  forty  feet  in  all, 
first  dining-room,  then  a  back  breakfast -room,  then  out 
of  this  a  china-room  or  pantry,  shelved,  and  fit  to  hold 
crockery  for  the  whole  street.  Such  is  the  grand  area 
which  continues  to  the  top,  and  furnishes  every  bedroom 
with  a  drawing-room  ;  on  the  whole  a  massive,  roomy, 
sufficient  old  house,  with  many  curious  and  queer  old 


24  EETKOSPECTS 

presses  and  shelved  closets.  We  lie  safe  at  a  bend  of 
the  river,  away  from  all  the  great  roads,  have  air  and 
quiet  hardly  inferior  to  Craigenputtock,  an  outlook  from 
the  back  windows  into  more  leafy  regions,  with  here  and 
there  a  red  high-peaked  old  roof  looking  through,  and 
see  nothing  of  London  except  by  day  the  summits  of 
St.  Paul's  Cathedral  and  Westminster  Abbey,  and  by 
night  the  gleam  of  the  great  Babylon,  affronting  the 
peaceful  skies.' 

I  was  struck  by  seeing  on  the  walls  of  some  of  the 
rooms  the  portraits,  inter  alia,  of  men  with  whom  I 
thought  Carlyle  could  have  little  sympathy,  notably  that 
of  Lord  Jeffrey  of  the  Edinburgh  Beview.  I  did  not 
then  know  the  great  services  which  Jeffrey  had  rendered 
to  him  in  the  days  of  his  early  struggle  in  Scotland. 
Everyone  who  knew  the  house  has  memories  of  the 
drawing-room,  in  which  were  a  Goethe  and  a  Kichter 
portrait;  mine  are  mostly  of  the  small  parlour  down- 
stairs. The  tea-table  in  that  room  would  be  a  choicer 
relic  for  posterity  than  the  one  the  Wordsworths  used 
at  Eydal  Mount.  Carlyle  would  often  sit  in  that  small 
room,  smoking  with  a  friend,  for  hours.  There  is  a 
story  told  of  someone  going  down  to  spend  the  evening ; 
and  they  spent  it  without  a  word  of  speech,  smoking 
pipe  after  pipe  in  meditative  reverie.  At  last  the  guest 
rose  to  leave,  and  said,  *  We  have  had  a  fine  evening, 
Carlyle.'  *  A  most  delightful  one,'  said  the  eulogist  of 
the  phrase  that  *  speech  is  silvern,  but  silence  golden.' 
At  other  times  his  torrent  of  talk  swept  everything 
before  it.    It  was  said  of  him  satirically  that  he  had 


THOMAS  CAELYLE  25 

managed    to  condense    the  eternal    silence  into   fifty 
volumes  of  speech.     Sometimes  when  he  talked,  as  al- 
ready mentioned,  the  whole  vocal  firmament  gave  forth 
electric   sparks,  or  rather   aurora-borealis   coruscations 
of  genius,  which  it  is  now  quite  impossible  to  restate. 
I   think    he  rather   enjoyed    the   effect    he  produced, 
although  he  was  neither  an  egotist,  nor  an  egoist,  in  the 
common  sense  of  the  terms  ;  and  was  always  ready  to 
defer  (as  Mr.  Gladstone  was)  to  anyone  who  interrupted 
the  flow  of  discourse,  if  what  he  had  to  say  was  to  the 
point.     But  woe  be  to  the  interrupter  if  the  interjection 
was  inept,   invalid,   or  irrelevant!      He  never  got   a 
chance  again.     I  remember  his  reference  to  a  chatter- 
box who  had  worried  him  much,  whom  he  called  an 
'  intellectual  hurdy-gurdy ' ;    and  all  he  said  of  him 
afterwards  was,  *  The  idiot,  the  idiot.'    He  certainly  used 
to  lash  men,  who  came  under  his  chastisement,  with  both 
whips  and  scorpions ;   but  he  entertained  no  personal 
animus  against  them.    His  likings  and  dislikings  were 
due   to  the  medium  through  which  he  got  to  know 
his    contemporaries  ;     and    when    he    met    the    men 
whom  he  had  scorched  by  criticism,  frequently  all  was 
changed. 

Once  at  the  Athenaeum  Club  a  member  said  to 
another,  *  When  did  you  last  see  the  sage  ?  '  '  Not  for 
a  long  time,'  was  the  answer.  *  I  think  I'll  go  down  to- 
night, and  have  a  talk.'  The  questioner  thought  it 
would  be  curious  to  meet  both  men  next  day,  and  find 
out  their  respective  impressions  of  each  other.  He  first 
met  the  visitor  to  Cheyne  Kow,  and  asked,  *  How  did 


26  KETKOSPECTS 

you  get  on  last  night  ?  '  *  Well,'  he  replied,  *  he's  an 
old  man.  You  must  make  allowance  for  age.  He's 
getting  garrulous,  and  just  a  trifle  scatter-brained.' 
Later  in  the  day  this  friend  went  down  to  Chelsea,  and 

said,  *  You  had here  last  night.    How  did  you  get 

on  ?  '  *  Get  on  ! '  was  the  reply.  *  He  seemed  to  me  to 
think  that  God  A'mighty  couldn't  make  another  man 
like  him,  if  he  were  to  try  ! ' 

We  once  talked  of  the  provinces  of  the  True,  the 
Beautiful,  and  the  Good.  Carlyle  seemed  to  agree  that 
the  intermediate  region  might  be  helpful  to  those  who 
were  wandering  in  the  mists  of  the  first  and  third, 
seeking  a  path  and  finding  none ;  and  he  said,  *  Yes ; 
correlate  them,  correlate  them  ;  for  all  three  are  one  at 
the  root.' 

Again  talking  about  worship  he  said,  *  I  don't  know 
much  about  the  "  Gate  called  Beautiful,"  but  I  believe 
in  the  "  Temple  not  made  with  hands."  '  He  remained 
to  the  end  a  Calvinistic  necessitarian,  as  he  had  been 
brought  up  in  his  boyhood,  fatalistically  devout.  I 
never  quite  got  over  my  dislike  to  his  scorn  for  all  the 
'  fools '  of  the  world,  which  was  due  to  his  appreciation 
of  power,  pure  and  simple.  He  had  the  sternness  of  the 
Puritan  soldier  in  him  from  first  to  last,  but  associated 
with  this  there  was  such  a  detestation  of  unreality,  an 
abhorrence  of  pretence  and  every  kind  of  humbug,  that 
his  sternness  was  soon  forgiven. 

My  last  words  of  him  must  be  those  of  unqualified 
praise.  He  habitually  rose,  or  tried  to  rise,  to  those 
Infinities  and  Eternities  which   he  never  defined  (or 


THOMAS  CAELYLE  27 

tried  to  define)  to  himself,  or  others ;  but  it  was  the 
grandeur  of  his  moral  ideal — alike  in  individual  conduct, 
for  national  life,  and  for  the  guidance  of  posterity — that 
drew  towards  him,  and  kept  sympathetically  near  him, 
many  whose  beliefs  differed  from  his  as  far  as  the  east 
is  from  the  west.  Their  allegiance  to  him  was  not  due  to 
their  belonging  to  the  same  *  school,'  or  being  of  the 
same  *  set '  or  *  coterie ; '  and  not  to  the  *  sweet  reasonable- 
ness' of  his  opinions,  or  the  accuracy  of  his  verdicts. 
It  arose  out  of  a  common  love  of  *  whatsoever  things  are 
true,  whatsoever  things  are  honest,  whatsoever  things 
are  lovely,  and  of  good  report,'  out  of  a  camaraderie 
strangely  based  on  the  harmony  of  opposites,  and 
the  underlying  affinities  of  excellence  wheresoever  it 
exists. 

I  may  add,  by  way  of  postscript,  a  somewhat  trivial 
detail.  In  1851 — the  year  of  the  first  International 
Exhibition — I  went  up  to  London  with  my  father  and 
brother.  We  stayed  with  cousins  of  Mrs.  Carlyle,  and 
were  taken  by  Dr.  John  Carlyle,  the  translator  of  Dante, 
to  the  British  Museum.  The  Assyrian  antiquities, 
collected  by  Sir  Henry  Layard  at  Nineveh  and  else- 
where, had  been  recently  added  to  our  national  collec- 
tion. These,  and  the  more  famous  Elgin  marbles, 
sent  at  an  earlier  date  from  Athens,  were  explained  to 
us  with  much  courtesy  and  learning.  As  we  were 
leaving  the  Museum,  Carlyle' s  greater  brother  called  for 
some  material  in  reference  to  Frederick  the  Great, 
which  he  had  just  begun.  We  saw,  but  did  not  speak 
to  him,  and  were  only  listeners  to  the  younger,  who 


28  EETKOSPECTS 

spent  much  time  with  us  so  kindly  ;  but  I  think  he  was 
gratified  to  find  that  Scots  boys  cared  more  for  these 
antiquities  than  for  anything  that  the  Knightsbridge 
exhibition  could  show  them,  even  although  it  included 
the  famous  Koh-i-noor. 


29 


FBEBEBICK  DENISON  MAUBICE 

As  with  Carlyle,  so  with  Maurice,  it  was  at  Linlathen 
that  I  first  met  him  ;  afterwards  in  Edinburgh,  London, 
and  elsewhere.  I  have  a  specially  vivid  remembrance 
of  the  way  in  which  he  repeated  the  paternoster  at 
Morning  Prayer,  the  slow  emphatic  cadence  of  his  voice, 
which  gave  separate  emphasis  to  each  petition,  and 
brought  out  its  meaning  by  the  mere  solemnity  of  utter- 
ance. It  was  like  nothing  I  ever  heard  before  or  since  ; 
and  I  certainly  never  met  anyone  whose  personality,  apart 
from  anything  he  said,  so  vividly  suggested  an  habitual 
life  in  that  hemisphere  which  the  denizens  of  earth 
only  occasionally  enter  and  traverse.  You  felt  that  you 
were  in  the  presence  of  a  man  who  lived,  in  the  most 
simple,  natural,  and  accustomed  manner,  in  two  worlds — 
the  material  and  the  spiritual — and  who  *  did  not  feel  it 
to  be  strange.'  With  the  keenest  relish  for  mundane 
things,  and  what  they  brought  him,  there  was  in  all  his 
speech  and  behaviour,!  in  what  he  said  and  in  what  he  left 
unsaid,  a  detachment  from  things  material.  This  was 
to  him  the  most  natural  and  familiar  attitude  of  mind 
and  heart.  As  to  the  sense-world,  you  saw  at  once  that 
he  was  *  in  it,  yet  not  of  it.'  And  after  hearing  him 
speak  even  a  few  sentences  it  was  evident  that  the 


30  KETKOSPECTS 

essence  of  what  he  had  to  say  to  his  contemporaries  was 
this :  *  The  kingdom  of  heaven  is  within  you.  The 
way  to  the  blessed  life  is  very  simple.  You  have  not  to 
ascend  to  any  heights  (whether  speculative  or  utili- 
tarian), to  go  down  into  any  depths  (theoretical  or 
practical).  You  have  simply  to  apprehend  that  by 
which  also  you  are  apprehended,  to  lay  hold  of  that 
which  surrounds  you — whether  you  will  or  no — and 
you  are  in  the  "  present  heaven  "  disclosed  in  the  motto 
et  teneo  et  teneor.  Eternal  life  is  here,  not  in  the  dim 
hereafter.  You  can  have  it — and  know  that  you  have 
it — now.' 

I  think  that  it  was  Maurice's  habitual  vision  of  the 
Unseen,  his  consciousness  of  the  Infinite  as  a  present 
reality,  of  the  Eternal  as  an  all-pervading  unity,  that 
gave  him  a  place  so  serene  amongst  his  contemporaries, 
and  an  influence  which  so  often  magnetised  others, 
lifting  them  up  to  higher  levels  along  with  him.  In 
the  sphere  of  Keligion  he  rose  above  the  Heraclitic 
process  of  becoming,  and  realised  the  E  lea  tic  constancy 
of  being. 

Perhaps  the  fundamental  note  in  his  teaching  from 
first  to  last,  through  his  numerous  books  and  discourses, 
was  this.  The  Eternal  is  for  ever  revealing  Himself  to 
man,  and  cannot  cease  to  do  so ;  and  by  means  of  these 
disclosures  of  *  the  besetting  God '  *  man  liveth.'  The 
way  in  which  he  emphasised  the  self-manifestation  of 
the  Infinite  within  the  finite  sphere,  the  ceaseless 
apocalypse  of  God  to  man,  as  the  Neoplatonists  of 
Alexandria  put; it — although  he  knew  the  limitations  of 


FBEDEEICK  DENISON  MAUEICE        31 

their  philosophy  well — led  men  like  Archdeacon  Hare  to 
say,  in  a  strain  of  hyperbole,  that  *  no  such  mind  had 
been  given  to  the  world  since  Plato's.'  That  is,  of 
course,  as  great  an  exaggeration  as  the  remark  that 
there  have  been  only  three  great  theologians  since  the 
time  of  the  Apostles,  and  that  he  was  one  of  them. 
There  is  no  exaggeration,  however,  in  the  statement 
that  he  saw  more  clearly  than  his  contemporaries  the 
impossibility  of  reaching  the  highest  truths  by  the  path- 
way of  the  pure  reason  ;  that  the  mental  toil  of  climbing, 
or  intellectual  system-building,  must  ultimately  be 
abandoned ;  and  that  the  best  way  to  reach  them  is  to 
receive  them  in  *  a  wise  passiveness,'  though  not  in  blind 
receptivity. 

And  so  he  read  in  all  History  the  self -manifestation 
and  revelation  of  God,  especially  in  the  history  of  the 
Hebrew  race,  and  the  Christian  Commonwealth  or 
Church.  I  do  not  refer  to  his  books,  or  quote  from  his 
writings,  in  support  of  this ;  although  it  would  be  easy 
to  do  so.  I  refer  to  the  outcome  of  all  his  conversa- 
tion, so  far  as  I  am  able  to  memorialise  it.  With  that 
conviction  radical  and  all-dominant,  he  did  not  find  his 
faith  in  the  least  degree  staggered  by  Bishop  Colenso's 
questioning  the  historic  literality  of  the  Pentateuch,  or 
by  the  discussions  and  discoveries  of  scholars  as  to  the 
composite  character  of  the  earliest  Biblical  records,  and 
by  the  allegoric  drapery  which  their  authors,  or  recorders, 
threw  around  the  facts  they  chronicled.  Enough  for 
him  that  there  were  facts  within  the  stories,  wheat 
within  the  chaff.    He  had  the  profoundest  reverence 


32  EETKOSPECTS 

for  facts.  A  fact  might  be  authentic,  while  the  record 
of  the  fact  was  not  infallible ;  but  even  the  facts  were 
of  no  value  if  they  were  not  the  indices  of  character, 
that  is  to  say  the  manifestation  of  what  underlay  and 
transcended  them.  The  highest  revelation  was  the 
drawing  aside  of  a  veil,  or  rather  of  many  veils  which 
hid  the  character  and  obscured  the  ever -evolving  pur- 
pose of  the  Infinite.  And  so,  while  he  reverenced  facts, 
he  had  a  higher  reverence  for  their  outcome  ;  disclosed, 
recorded,  and  chronicled  in  Institutions,  *  Facts,'  he 
said,  *  were  angels  of  the  Lord,'  but  he  seemed  to  believe 
that  Institutions  were  his  very  children.  *If  God 
reveals  his  ideas  to  us,'  he  said,  *  the  revelation  must  be 
through  facts.  I  believe  that  the  modern  process  of 
idealising  the  past  tends  to  destroy  both  facts  and  ideas 
and  to  leave  nothing  but  a  certain  deposit,  for  which 
the  sensation-novel  is  the  appropriate  sink.  Institu- 
tions are  deposits  of  a  totally  different  kind,  a  genuine 
residuum  ;  and  all  historic  criticism  is  good,  it  seems  to 
me,  so  far  as  it  tests  facts  and  interprets  Institutions. 
It  should  be  carried  on  not  only  in  the  spirit  of  love  for 
facts,  but  in  reverence  for  what  the  facts  contain.' 

It  seemed  to  me  that  it  was  first  the  new  light  it  cast 
on  human  nature,  and  secondly  the  fresh  power  it  gave  to 
human  character,  that  were  to  Maurice  the  fundamental 
witness-bearers  to  the  value  of  the  Bible.  That  book 
was  to  him  the  authentic,  although  not  always  the 
literal,  record  of  a  divine  conflict  with  evil ;  and  of  a 
determination  that  evil  shall  be  controlled,  minimised, 
and  subdued,  if  not  eliminated  by  the  power  of  good. 


FEEDEEICK  DENISON   MAUEICE        33 

In  recording  the  Colloquia  Peripatetica  of  Dr.  John 
Duncan,  in  1869,  and  editing  them  in  1870,  I  quoted 
one  of  his  sayings  about  Maurice  and  his  system. 
It  was  to  this  effect :  *  In  Maurice's  system,  the  ethicist 
devours  the  lawyer.  .  .  .  It  is  a  system  of  pure  illegality. 
It  will  never  go  down  with  the  lawyers.  It  upsets  their 
science  entirely.  ...  I  can  understand  the  fact  I  have 
heard  that  Sir  William  Hamilton  disliked  the  theology 
of  Maurice.  He  was  a  lawyer,  and  no  lawyer  is  likely 
to  fall  into  a  sentimentalism  about  law.'  On  receiving 
a  copy  of  the  Colloquia,  Maurice  wrote :  *  You  were 
quite  right  not  to  omit  Dr.  Duncan's  sentence  upon  me, 
and  I  hope  you  will  not  in  any  subsequent  edition. 
You  would  do  something  to  mar  the  full  understanding 
of  his  mind  and  character  if  you  suppressed  any  of  his 
opinions,  because  you  may  not  happen  to  adopt  them  as 
your  own.  .  .  .'  In  a  sequel  letter  he  wrote,  * ...  I  wish 
for  an  opportunity  of  expressing  publicly,  however  briefly, 
the  interest  which  I  felt  in  that  criticism,  and  in  the 
book  which  contains  it.  This  I  am  about  to  do  in  the 
preface  to  a  new  edition  of  my  lectures  on  The  Con- 
science, .  .  .  Thank  you  much  for  connecting  me  with 
my  dear  friend,  at  whose  house  ^  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  you.  His  name  must  be  a  bond  of  union  to 
everyone  who  knew  him  and  cared  for  him.  He  intro- 
duced me  in  1854  to  Sir  W.  Hamilton,  who  was  paralysed 
and  whose  voice  was  inarticulate,  but  whose  grand  face 
and  head  it  was  a  great  satisfaction  to  look  at.  I  doubt 
if  he  had  ever  heard  my  name  till  Mr.  Erskine  sent  it  in 

'  Linlathen. 
I.  D 


34  EETKOSPECTS 

on  that  occasion,  so  that  I  suppose  Dr.  Duncan  would 
have  done  me  too  much  honour  in  supposing  that  Sir 
William  had  ever  looked  into  any  of  my  books.  .  .  .' 

The  following  is  part  of  the  preface  to  the  second 
edition  of  his  lectures  on  The  Conscience.  They  are  a 
good  illustration  of  Maurice  as  a  controversialist. 

*  Since  these  lectures  were  published,  there  has  ap- 
peared an  exceedingly  interesting  volume  entitled  Gol- 
loquia  Peripateticaf  by  the  late  John  Duncan,  D.D., 
Professor  of  Hebrew  in  the  New  College  of  Edinburgh. 
These  are  reported  by  .  .  .  His  teacher  must  have  been 
a  man  of  rare  originality,  varied  culture,  great  vigour  in 
expressing  thoughts  which  were  worthy  to  be  expressed 
and  remembered.  .  .  .  The  reader  who  shall  give  him- 
self the  benefit  and  gratification  of  studying  this  little 
volume  (it  will  suggest  more  to  him  than  many  ten 
times  its  size)  will  find  that  I  have  not  been  bribed  to 
speak  well  of  it  by  any  praise  which  Dr.  Duncan  has 
bestowed  on  me.  My  only  excuse  for  alluding  to  it  is 
that  it  contains  the  severest  censure  on  my  writings 
which  they  have  ever  incurred ;  though  they  have  not 
been  so  unfortunate  as  to  escape  censure.  If  Dr.  Dun- 
can's complaint  of  them  were  established,  I  should  own 
at  once  that  I  was  absolutely  disqualified  for  speaking 
on  Casuistry  or  Moral  Philosophy ;  that  the  less  young 
men  have  to  do  with  me,  the  better  it  will  be  for  them. 
He  says  that  my  "  system  is  pure  illegality,"  that  law  is 
by  me  banished  from  ethics,  or  is  swallowed  up  in 
ethics.  What  my  system  is,  or  does,  I  really  am  not 
able  to  say.    I  have  always  professed  with  great  earnest- 


FKEDEKICK  DENISON  MAUKICE        35 

ness  that  I  have  never  constructed  a  "system ;  "  that,  if 
I  did,  it  would  exclude  most  of  the  truth  which  I  feel  to 
be  the  support  of  my  life,  and  would  include  most  of  the 
falsehoods  against  which  I  protest.  But  that  I  hold 
any  morality  which  banishes  law  to  be  an  inhuman 
morality,  to  be  inconsistent  with  the  order  of  God's 
Universe,  I  think  every  reader  of  these  lectures  and  of 
those  on  Social  Morality  will  be  constrained  to  admit, 
whatever  may  be  his  judgement  in  other  respects  of  them 
or  of  me. 

*  It  is,  unfortunately,  impossible  to  ascertain  what 
passages  in  my  writings  conveyed  this  impression  of  my 
"  illegality  "  to  Dr.  Duncan.  If  I  ever  meet  with  them 
and  find  the  sense  which  he  perceived  in  them  to  be  their 
natural  sense,  I  shall  be  more  anxious  to  blot  them 
out  than  anyone  else  can  be.  Against  any  ordinary 
criticism  even  a  writer  who  is  naturally  thin-skinned 
becomes  by  degrees  tolerably  hardened.  One  proceeding 
from  a  man  of  such  learning  and  worth  as  Dr.  Duncan, 
I  have  thought  it  a  duty  to  notice,  less  for  my  own  sake 
than  for  the  honour  of  the  University  which  has  per- 
mitted me  to  be  one  of  its  teachers. 

'  Cambridge :  January  1872.' 

I  used  to  think  Maurice  one  of  the  very  humblest  of 
men,  almost  overburdened  by  a  sense  of  his  failures ;  but 
far  above  that,  and  counteractive  of  it,  was  his  habitual 
sense  of  the  presence  of  the  Infinite  within  him,  and 
the  direct  guidance  of  the  everlasting  Will.  His  con- 
troversy with  Dean  Mansel  as  to  the  knowableness  of 

D  2 


36  EETKOSPECTS 

God,  and  the  way  in  which  we  know  him,  brought  out 
the  moral  characteristics  of  the  man  in  a  remarkable 
manner.  Some  have  thought  that  there  was  in  him 
not  only  humility,  but  an  exaggerated  and  almost 
morbid  self-humiliation.  I  do  not  think  so;  but  he 
had  a  keen  sense  of  two  things,  first  of  failure  in 
reaching  his  own  ideals,  and  secondly  of  the  extent  of 
his  debt  to  others,  or  of  what  they  had  to  teach  him 
alike  by  their  thoughts  and  their  achievements.  I  re- 
member that  when  I  first  read  his  works  half  a  cen- 
tury ago,  I  and  many  of  my  fellow-collegians  were  at 
once  fascinated  by  their  wisdom,  and  repelled  by  their 
excess  of  impartiality.  Youthful  disputants  are  easily 
irritated  by  this  style  of  action  in  an  intellectual 
athlete,  viz.  that  before  attacking  an  adversary  he  says 
*  This  man  has  far  more  to  teach  me  than  I  can 
ever  possibly  teach  him ! '  So  it  was  with  Maurice. 
In  his  extreme  fairmindedness  and  generosity,  he 
would  draw  out  the  several  points  brought  forward  to 
his  own  disadvantage  by  the  antagonist  whom  he  was 
just  about  to  try  to  annihilate  in  argument.  But  it 
must  be  remembered  that  this  was  the  intellectual 
virtue  of  chivalry,  the  old  crusader  spirit  carried  over 
into  the  arena  of  debate.  Would  that  we  had  more  of 
it  amongst  us  now. 

As  a  foeman  Maurice  was  never  a  hot-blooded  free- 
booter, but  invariably  a  modern  knight-errant ;  not  an 
angry  blind  exterminator,  but  a  courteous  champion  of 
what  he  deemed  the  rights  of  others  rather  than  his 
own.     More  than  this.     His  aim  was  to  teach  his 


FEEDEKICK  DENISON   MAUKICE        37 

generation  that  their  noblest  victories  could  not  be  won 
by  an  intellectual  cross-examination  of  problems,  but 
rather  by  the  opening  of  the  *  inward  eye '  upon  them. 
As  an  example  of  his  humble  gratitude  for  little  things, 
the  following  sentence  may  be  quoted.  It  was  the 
acknowledgment  of  having  received  a  trivial  essay 
from  a  comparative  stranger.  *  I  must  heartily  thank 
you  for  the  instruction  it  has  given  me,  and  for  the 
hints — specially  valuable  to  an  old  gossip— of  the  way 
in  which  a  series  of  important  facts,  specially  difficult 
to  condense,  may  be  brought  into  a  short  and  reasonable 
and  most  agreeable  narrative.' 

Maurice  was  affectionately  named  by  his  disciple- 
friends  *  the  prophet  of  Vere  Street,'  where  he  used  to 
preach.  It  was  his  personality,  more  than  any  of  his 
sayings  or  doings,  that  impressed  these  disciples.  They 
sometimes  felt  a  certain  awe  in  his  presence,  which 
prevented  them  from  saying  things  or  asking  questions 
which  they  would  fain  have  said  or  asked.  He  was  a 
man  who  could  never  be  drawn  into  conversation,  and 
he  greatly  disliked  controversial  talk.  In  his  letter  to 
Mrs.  Hort,  partly  reproduced  in  his  Life,  will  be  found 
one  of  the  best  portraits  of  the  real  man. 

He  was  godfather  to  one  of  the  daughters  of  Mr. 
Blunt,  the  Rector  of  Chelsea ;  and  the  baptism-breakfast 
at  the  Rectory  afterwards  was  remarkable  for  the  fact 
that  Mrs.  Carlyle,  who  was  present,  afterwards  carried  off 
Maurice  to  see  her  husband — a  *  reconciliation  meeting ' 
after  a  long  coolness  between  them,  due  to  the  pain 
which  the  chapter  on  Coleridge  in  Carlyle's  Life  of 


38  KETKOSPECTS 

Sterling  had  caused  to  Maurice.  Sterling's  daughters 
lived  much  with  the  Maurices  J 

The  list  of  those  who  signed  the  protest  against 
Maurice's  expulsion  from  King's  College  shows  how  large 
a  number  of  clergy  there  were  who  felt  indebted  to  him 
for  much  in  their  higher  life.  It  is  difficult  to  place  him 
within  any  of  the  stereotyped  parties  in  the  Church, 
(broad,  or  high,  or  low),  and  he  would  have  resented 
such  an  attempt ;  but  his  real  successors  were  such  men 
as  Robertson  of  Brighton,  Arthur  Stanley,  Llewelyn 
Davies,  and  of  course  Charles  Kingsley.     They  were  all 

*  minor  prophets,'  side  by  side  with  the  sage  of  Vera 
Street;  but  they  perhaps  contributed  to  make  their 
master  more  intelligible  to  the  world. 

Mr.  Blunt  wrote  to  me  thus  of  his  revered  teacher  : 

*  My  first  acquaintance  with  Frederick  Maurice  was  in 
1849,  when  at  Cambridge,  reading  for  my  degree.  We 
had  formed  a  small  literary  society  in  that  year,  of 
which  the  late  Professor  Hort  was  the  most  remarkable  ; 

'  I  may  add  that,  while  the  Sage  could  not  join  the  breakfast  party,  he 
sent  by  his  wife,  on  little  slips  of  paper,  some  delightful  sayings  and 
good  wishes  for  the  little  girl  from  his  favourite  authors,  which  he  had 
written  out,  and  which  were  read  aloud  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  guests. 
Some  were  as  follows : 

(1)  '  One  sun  by  day, 

By  night  ten  thousand  shine.* 

(2)  *  Tommy  Douglas  lost  his  cow. 
And  couldn't  tell  where  to  find  her ; 
When  he  had  done  what  man  can  do, 

The  cow  came  home,  and  her  tail  behind  her.' 

(3)  '  Be  thankful  that  you  are  not  in  Purgatory.'  When  this 
sentence  was  read, '  Ah  ! '  said  Maurice,  with  his  quiet  smile, '  but  that  is 
just  where  tve  are  I ' 


FEEDEEICK  DENISON  MAUEICE        39 

and  as  we  were  all  readers  of  Maurice's  works  we  per- 
suaded Hort  to  write  a  letter  to  Maurice,  asking  him 
to  tell  us  distinctly  his  views  respecting  eternal  punish- 
ment— and  one  or  two  other  points  of  doctrine  about 
which  we  were  in  difficulty — as  we  were  all  still  under 
the  religious  teaching  of  the  old  evangelical  school.  In 
due  time  an  answer  came,  in  a  long  letter ;  and  I  can 
never  forget  the  intense  interest  with  which  we  read  it. 
It  is  now  to  be  found  in  the  second  volume  of  Maurice's 
Life,  p.  15.  I  think  that  in  many  respects  that  letter 
is  the  fullest  and  most  admirable  exposition  of  Maurice's 
views  on  the  question  that  he  ever  wrote.  Certainly  for 
three  of  us — Hort,  Ellerton,  and  myself — it  proved  to  be 
a  life-long  deliverance  from  an  intolerable  bondage,  and 
a  clearing-up  of  what  could,  or  could  not,  be  safely  said 
on  that  subject.'     Mr.  Blunt  continues  : 

*  It  was  not  till  four  or  five  years  after  leaving 
Cambridge  that  I  first  made  personal  acquaintance 
with  Maurice.  I  was  then  a  curate  in  a  country  parish 
in  Shropshire,  under  Henry  de  Bunsen.  Maurice  and 
his  wife  had  come  down  to  take  the  duty  in  a  parish  not 
far  off,  and  to  reside  for  a  time  at  the  rectory.  I  shall 
never  forget  the  thrill  of  emotion  which  came  over  me 
when  I  met  him  for  the  first  time,  walking  towards  me 
in  company  with  my  vicar,  and  evidently  in  deep 
conversation  with  him.  He  was  a  rather  short  man, 
with  broad  shoulders,  a  magnificent  head,  and  a  face 
which  bore  the  expression  that  Archdeacon  Hare  once 
used  of  him,  viz.  as  having  "  the  subtlest  intellect  in 
Europe."     I  think  we  were  always  a  little  overpowered 


40  EETEOSPECTS 

in  his  company  by  the  overwhelming  sense  of  his 
goodness  and  greatness  ;  while  he  seemed  equally  shy 
from  genuine  humility  and  modesty,  which  would  have 
been  almost  painful  if  it  had  not  been  so  perfectly 
sincere.  It  was  quite  beyond  our  skill,  or  courage,  to 
"  draw  "  him  upon  points  on  which  we  most  longed  to 
consult  him,  but  upon  which  he  would  rarely  give  any 
definite  opinion.  Still  the  mere  contact  with  such  a 
character  made  us  go  on  our  way  afterwards  wiser  and 
better  men.  To  hear  him  read,  or  rather  pray^  the 
prayers  in  church  was  often  more  efficacious  than  to 
listen  to  his  sermons ;  and  his  answers  made  in  church, 
when  he  stood  godfather  to  my  daughter  Elaine,  still 
ring  in  my  ears  with  a  depth  of  intense  devotion  and 
reality.  He  was  never  popular,  either  as  a  preacher  or 
lecturer ;  and  yet  the  result  of  his  preaching  and 
lecturing  has  been  to  create  a  new  school  in  the  Church 
of  England,  and  to  give  a  far  wider  and  more  compre- 
hensive view  of  the  Kingdom  of  Christ.' 

To  have  made  so  many  in  his  time  understand  the 
meaning  of  Kevelation,  as  the  simple  uplifting  of  the 
veils  that  ordinarily  hang  around  those  truths,  which — 
when  thus  disclosed — attest  themselves  spontaneously, 
was  magnificent  service.  It  was  all  the  more  valuable 
that  it  now  seems  as  simply  obvious  to  the  understanding, 
as  the  law  of  gravitation  evidenced  by  the  fall  of  the 
apple  in  the  orchard.  The  controversy  with  Dean 
Mansel — now  as  much  forgotten  as  the  strife  occasioned 
by  Bishop  Colenso's  examination  of  the  Pentateuch — 
was  much  farther  reaching.     Maurice  could  not  brook 


FKEDEKICK  DENISON  MAUEICE        41 

the  surrender  of  the  direct  knowableness  of  God  to  the 
agnostic,  whether  the  assault  was  delivered  within  or 
without  the  Christian  citadel ;  and  no  one  taught  his 
generation  better  that  the  internal  truth  of  things  is 
independent  of  our  cognition  of  it.  He  saw  as  few 
theologians  ever  did  that  the  withdrawal  of  all  hindrances 
(external  and  internal)  to  the  direct  inflowing  of  the  light 
made  Eevelation  progressive,  and  changed  its  phases, 
every  one  of  which  was  divine.  Uniformity  in  Eevelation 
destroyed  it ;  made  it  not  only  inept,  but  unveracious. 

We  do  not  turn  to  him  as  we  resort  to  Darwin  for 
light  on  scientific  fact  and  process;  we  do  not  learn 
much  from  his  writings  as  to  the  historic  evolution  of 
the  data  of  Eeligion.  But  we  are  led  by  him  to  what  is 
beyond  and  behind  phenomenal  experience,  and  yet  lies 
within  each  link  in  the  chain  of  progress.  In  this  lies 
the  surpassing  value  of  his  Moral  and  Metaphysical 
Philosophy,  a  work  which  I  venture  to  think  is  his 
greatest  achievement.  His  *  vision  of  Him  who  reigns  ' 
was  so  intense  and  abiding  that  the  inspection  of 
the  particular  things  through  which  he  saw  it,  however 
fascinating  in  detail,  had  relatively  less  interest  to  him. 

He  once  said  to  me,  *  As  to  any  fact,  what  the  better 
are  you  for  a  knowledge  of  it  ?  All  that  you  can  say  is 
evenitf  it  has  happened,  it  is  an  occurrence ;  but  what  a 
shroud  of  ignorance  surrounds  these  words  ?  What  is  it 
to  happen,  to  occur,  to  come  about  ?  And  what  is  it 
that  is  happening,  occurring,  or  coming  about  ?  Mustn't 
we  get  behind  the  facts  to  discern  that  ? '  *  It  is 
a  very  little  way  we  can  get.'     *  Yes  :  but  it's  necessary 


42  KETEOSPECTS 

to  proceed  by  some  way  to  some  distance/  *  Perhaps 
most  of  all  needful  to  distinguish  the  wrappings  of  facts, 
their  embroidery,  or  mere  drapery,  from  their  essence.' 
*  Certainly,  we  must  beware  of  putting  anything  either 
above  or  beneath  them  that  does  not  belong  to  them. 
A  superstition  may  be  the  placing  of  something  of  our 
own  above  facts,  but  a  supposition  is  the  placing  of  it 
under  them,  which  is  quite  as  bad.' 

The  inevitable  changes  in  opinion  and  belief  which 
have  occurred  throughout  the  ages,  which  were  a  sign  of 
progress  and  gradual  advance,  were  also  to  Maurice  an 
evidence  that  it  was  not  by  his  creeds  that  man  is  either 
emancipated,  or  impelled.  These,  on  the  contrary, 
when  they  crystallise  around  him  act  occasionally  as 
a  fetter,  and  are  a  barrier  to  progress.  When  our 
deference  to  them  becomes  a  monotonous  or  languid 
assent,  our  very  allegiance  instead  of  enriching  may 
sterilise  us.  We  are  enriched  by  that  which  underlies 
the  creeds — necessary  as  they  are — viz.  by  the  life  that 
is  communicated  to  us,  when  our  vision  is  clearest  and 
our  aspirations  most  intense,  when  we  are  most  plastic 
and  amenable,  not  to  every  wind  that  blows,  but  to 
that  spirit  *  which  bloweth  where  it  listeth,  although 
we  cannot  tell  whence  it  cometh,  or  whither  it  goeth.' 
Thus  thought  Maurice. 

Mr.  Kichard  Holt  Hutton,  late  editor  of  The 
Spectator y  wrote  of  Maurice  in  1896  : 

*  It  is  about  thirty-five  years  since  the  late  Walter 
Bagehot,  who  was  then  a  student  of  Lincoln's  Inn,  where 
he  was  afterwards  called  to  the  Bar,  took  me  to  hear  one 


FKEDEEICK  DENISON   MAUKICE        43 

of  the  afternoon  sermons  of  the  chaplain  of  the  Inn. 
I  remember  Bagehot's  telling  me,  with  his  usual  caution, 
that  he  would  not  exactly  answer  for  my  being  impressed 
by  the  sermon,  but  that  at  all  events  he  thought  I 
should  feel  that  something  different  went  on  there  from 
that  which  goes  on  in  an  ordinary  church  or  chapel 
service  ;  that  there  was  a  sense  of  "  something  religious  " 
—the  last  phrase  Maurice  himself  would  have  appreciated 
— "  in  the  air,"  which  was  not  to  be  found  elsewhere. 
I  went,  and  it  is  hardly  too  much  to  say  that  the  voice 
and  manner  of  the  preacher — his  voice  and  manner  in 
the  reading-desk,  at  least  as  much  as  in  the  pulpit — 
have  lived  in  my  memory  ever  since,  as  no  other  voice 
and  manner  have  ever  lived  in  it.  The  half  stern,  half 
pathetic  emphasis  with  which  he  gave  the  words  of  the 
Confession,  "  And  there  is  no  health  in  us,''  throwing  the 
weight  of  the  meaning  on  to  the  last  word,  and  the  rising 
of  his  voice  into  a  higher  plane  of  hope  as  he  passed 
away  from  the  confession  of  weakness  to  the  invocation 
of  God's  help,  struck  the  one  note  of  his  life — the 
passionate  trust  in  eternal  help — as  it  had  never  been 
struck  in  my  hearing  before,  though  I  never  again  saw 
or  heard  him  without  again  hearing  it,  much  as  I  find 
it  pervading  every  page  of  this  striking  book.^  No 
wonder  that,  in  spite  of  the  singular  and  voluminous 
monotony  of  the  book,  for  every  letter  it  contains  is 
written  in  just  the  same  key,  men  so  eagerly  read  it  to 
convince  themselves  that  once  at  least  in  our  generation 
a  whole  life  has  been  lived,  not  in  the  effort  to  escape 

*  Theological  Essays  (1853). 


44  EETKOSPECTS 

from  eternal  realities,  but  in  deep  dread  of  losing  sight 
of  them  even  for  a  moment.  Maurice  was  a  witness,  if 
in  our  day  we  have  ever  had  a  witness,  to  eternal  life, 
and  to  eternal  life  in  that  sense  in  which  he  had  learnt 
to  define  it  from  St.  John.' 

It  would  be  pleasant  to  linger  over  some  details  in 
Maurice's  great  work,  viz.  his  Moral  and  Metaphysical 
Philosophy f  in  which  his  aim  was  to  bring  his  readers 
face  to  face  with  the  great  thinkers  and  teachers  of  the 
past,  to  let  us  into  the  secrets  of  their  thinking  by  with- 
drawing some  of  the  veils  which  hide  it ;  but  this  would 
hardly  be  a  *  retrospect.' 

I  therefore  conclude  by  stating  the  impression  which 
intercourse  with  him  left  on  some  who  were  not  his 
disciples,  but  only  acquaintances  or  friends.  It  was 
this.  His  rare  sense  of  the  organic  unity  of  the  race, 
of  his  own  union  with  all  the  other  members  of  it,  and 
the  original  and  indissoluble  tie  which  unites  all  of  them 
to  God  in  virtue  of  their  lineage  and  ancestry.  These 
twin  convictions  underlay  the  whole  of  his  thought  and 
teaching.  More  especially  it  was  his  aim  to  induce  his 
contemporaries  to  realise  that  religion  emerges  naturally, 
and  must  spring  into  being,  so  soon  as  the  organic 
relationship  between  God  and  man  is  realised.  There 
was  no  escaping  from  it,  no  possible  evasion  of  it,  if  the 
Revealer  is  omnipresent  and  never  silent.  There  were 
oracles  everywhere,  *  so  many  voices  in  the  world,  and 
none  of  them  without  signification.'  He  also  saw  a 
divine  order  underlying  all  disorder,  a  good  superior  to 
evil  and  destined  to  crush  it.    That  the  infinite  incom- 


FEEDEEICK  DENISON  MAUEICE        45 

prehensible  One  was  also  knowable  as  a  revealer,  and 
could  be  apprehended  by  man  through  an  incessant 
apocalypse,  was  the  very  pivot  round  which  Maurice's 
life  revolved.  The  Infinite  was  not  to  him  an  abstrac- 
tion, a  stream  of  tendency,  existence  in  the  neuter 
gender ;  but  a  living  omnipresent  reality,  *  a  presence 
that  disturbed  him  with  the  joy  of  elevated  thoughts  ' ; 
and  no  one  ever  emphasised  more  consistently  and 
continuously  the  maxims,  *the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  is 
within  you,'  intra  te  qucere  Deum. 


46  KETEOSPECTS 


ALFBED   TENNYSON 

In  the  beginning  of  May  1890  I  spent  two  days  at 
Farringford.  In  the  short  walk  to  the  house,  from 
where  the  Freshwater  coach  was  left,  I  felt — quite  as 
much  as  upon  my  earliest  visit  to  Stratford-on-Avon,  or 
when  I  first  went  to  Grasmere  and  walked  thence  to 
Rydal — that  I  was  approaching  one  of  the  shrines  of 
England.  It  recalled  days  in  Edinburgh,  thirty-five 
years  before,  when,  by  the  young  student  of  Philosophy 
Sir  William  Hamilton  was  considered  an  intellectual 
demigod,  and  conversation  with  him  deemed  one  of  the 
highest  honours  possible. 

In  the  avenue  leading  to  the  house,  spreading  trees 
just  opening  into  leaf,  with  spring  flowers  around  and 
beneath — yellow  cowslips,  and  blue  forget-me-nots — and 
the  song  of  birds  in  the  branches  overhead,  seemed  a 
fitting  prelude  to  all  that  followed.  Shortly  after  I  was 
seated  in  the  ante-room,  the  poet's  son  appeared ;  and,  as 
his  father  was  engaged,  he  said,  *  Come,  and  see  my 
mother.'  We  went  into  the  drawing-room,  where  the  old 
lady  was  reclining  on  a  couch.  Immediately  the  lines 
beginning  *  Such  age,  how  beautiful '  came  into  mind. 
At  the  first  sight  of  Lady  Tennyson  her  graciousness, 


ALFKED  TENNYSON  47 

and  the  radiant  though  fragile  beauty  of  old  age, 
were  alike  conspicuous.  Both  her  eye  and  her  voice 
had  an  inexpressible  charm.  She  inquired  with  much 
interest  for  the  widow  of  one  of  my  colleagues  at  the 
University,^  who  used  formerly  to  live  in  the  island, 
close  to  Farringford,  and  whose  family  were  friends  as 
well  as  near  neighbours. 

Tennyson  soon  entered,  and  at  once  proposed  that 
we  should  go  out  of  doors.  After  a  short  stroll  on  the 
lawn  under  the  cedars,  we  went  into  what  he  himself 
has  called  his  *  careless -ordered  garden,'  walked  round 
it,  and  then  sat  down  in  the  small  summer-house.  It 
is  a  quaint  rectangular  garden,  sloping  to  the  west, 
where  Nature  and  Art  blend  happily ;  orchard  trees,  and 
old-fashioned  flower-beds,  with  stately  pines  around, 
giving  to  it  a  sense  of  perfect  rest.  That  garden  is 
truly  '  a  haunt  of  ancient  peace.'  Left  alone  with  the 
bard  for  some  time,  it  was  impossible  not  to  realise 
the  presence  of  one  of  the  kings  of  men.  His  aged 
look  impressed  me.  There  was  the  keen  eagle  eye ; 
and,  although  the  glow  of  youth  was  gone,  the 
strength  of  age  was  in  its  place.  The  lines  of  his  face 
were  like  the  furrows  in  the  stem  of  a  wrinkled  oak- 
tree  ;  but  his  whole  bearing  disclosed  a  latent  strength 
and  nobility,  a  reserve  of  power,  combined  with  a  most 
courteous  grace  of  manner.  I  was  also  struck  by  the 
neglige  air  of  the  man ;  so  different  from  that  of 
Browning,  or  Arnold,  or  Lowell. 

He  soon  threw  aside  his  picturesque  cloak,  and  laid 
•  Professor  Fischer. 


48  EETEOSPECTS 

down  his  broad-brimmed  hat  upon  the  table.  He  ques- 
tioned me  about  my  work  at  St.  Andrews,  and,  referring 
to  that  of  his  friend  Maurice  at  Cambridge,  asked  if  I  knew 
his  books.  I  gave  my  opinion  of  them,  and,  speaking  of 
his  treatment  of  Mediae valism  in  his  Moral  and  Meta- 
physical Philosophy,  ventured  to  say  it  was  the  best  dis- 
cussion of  mediaeval  thought  which  we  had  in  English ; 
but  added  that  the  man  was  greater  than  his  philo- 
sophy. He  answered,  *  You  are  right.  Maurice  was  one 
of  the  greatest  and  best  of  the  men  I  have  ever  known.* 
I  referred  to  what  had  struck  myself  so  much,  viz.  the 
uplifting  influence  of  his  conversation,  and  the  magnetic 
effect  of  his  mere  presence— like  that  of  James  Martineau 
or  John  Henry  Newman,  to  take  two  very  different 
characters.  *  Ah  ! '  he  replied  ;  *  far  greater  than 
Newman,  really  more  spiritual,  and  profounder  every 
way.' 

We  soon  talked  of  the  season,  and  of  the  poets. 
*  The  Promise  of  May '  was  all  around  us,  and  he  quoted, 
with  a  rich  musical  intoning  of  their  words,  passages 
from  Milton,  Virgil,  and  Lord  Surrey.  I  forget  the 
passages  from  the  two  former  ;  but  from  Lord  Surrey  it 
was  part  of  his  sonnet  on  Spring : — 

The  soote  season,  that  bud  and  bloom  forth  brings, 
With  green  hath  clad  the  hill,  and  eke  the  vale. 
The  nightingale  with  feathers  new  she  sings ; 
The  turtle  to  her  mate  hath  told  her  tale. 
Summer  is  come,  for  every  spray  now  springs, 
Winter  is  worn  that  was  the  flowers'  bale. 

I  asked  whether  he  knew  the  Day  Estival,  by  our 


ALFKED   TENNYSON  49 

cottish   poet  Alexander  Hume,  and   quoted   a  stanza 
from  it  on  the  effect  of  sunrise  : — 

For  joy  the  birds  with  boulden  throats, 

Against  his  visage  sheen, 
Take  up  their  kindly  music -notes 

In  woods  and  gardens  green. 

He  said,  *  I  prefer  Lord  Surrey's  way  of  putting  it — 

The  Sun,  when  he  hath  spread  his  rays, 
And  shew'd  his  face  ten  thousand  ways  ; 
Ten  thousand  things  do  then  begin, 
To  shew  the  hfe  that  they  are  in.' 

We  talked  much  of  the  sonnet.  He  said  he  thought 
the  best  in  the  language  were  Milton's,  Shakespeare's, 
and  Wordsworth's ;  after  these  three,  those  by  his  own 
brother  Charles.  *  I  at  least  rank  my  brother's  next  to 
those  by  the  three  Olympians.'  He  added,  *  A  sonnet 
arrests  the  free  sweep  of  genius,  and  if  poets  were  to 
keep  to  it,  it  would  cripple  them  ;  but  it  is  a  fascinating 
kind  of  verse,  and  to  excel  in  it  is  a  rare  distinction.' 
I  ventured  to  refer  to  the  metrical  and  structural 
necessity  that  its  last  line  should  form  the  climax,  both 
of  thought  and  expression,  in  a  sonnet ;  and  that  the 
whole  should  be  like  a  wave  breaking  on  the  shore.  He 
said,  *  Not  only  so ;  the  whole  should  show  a  continuous 
advance  of  thought  and  of  movement,  like  a  river  fed  by 
rillets ;  as  every  great  poem,  and  all  essays  and  treatises, 
should.'  Going  back  to  Milton,  he  said  that  he  had 
caught  the  spirit  of  his  blank  verse  from  Virgil,  the  long 
sonorous  roll,  of  which  he  is  such  a  master  ;  and  quoted 
passages  from  each  in  illustration. 

He  had  no  great  liking,  he  said,  for  arranging  the 


50  EETEOSPECTS 

poets  in  a  hierarchy.  He  found  so  much  that  surpassed 
himself  in  different  ways  in  all  the  great  ones  ;  but 
he  thought  that  Homer,  iEschylus,  Sophocles,  Virgil, 
Dante,  Shakespeare,  and  Goethe — these  seven — were 
the  greatest  of  the  great,  up  to  the  year  1800.  They 
were  not  all  equal  in  rank ;  and,  even  in  the  work  of  that 
heptarchy  of  genius,  there  were  trivial  things  to  be 
found. 

The  experimental  work  of  poets  was  referred  to,  their 
early  tentative  efforts  ;  and  he  spoke  of  the  diseased 
craving  of  many  persons  to  have  the  trifles  of  a  man  of 
genius  preserved,  and  of  the  positive  crime  of  publish- 
ing what  a  poet  had  himself  deliberately  suppressed. 
If  all  the  contents  of  a  poet's  waste-basket  were  taken 
out,  printed,  and  issued  in  a  volume,  one  result  would  be 
that  the  things  which  he  had  disowned  would  be  read 
by  many,  to  whom  the  great  things  he  had  written 
would  be  unknown.  He  said  that  he  himself  had 
suffered  in  that  way.  I  told  him  of  a  poem  which 
Wordsworth  wrote  when  he  lived  at  Alfoxden — an 
unworthy  record  of  a  revolting  crime — which  he  had 
the  good  sense  never  to  publish.  I  had  not  seen  the 
original,  only  a  copy  had  been  given  to  me,  but  I  threw 
it  on  the  fire  as  soon  as  I  had  read  it.  Tennyson  was 
greatly  pleased,  and  said,  '  It  was  the  kindest  thing  you 
could  have  done.'  ^ 

He  then  spoke  of  the  folly  of  fancying  that  every- 

His  son  Hallam,  writing  in  August  of  that  year,  said,  '  He  often 
quotes  you  with  great  honour  for  having  destroyed  an  unworthy  poem  by 
Wordsworth.'  The  original  was  afterwards  transferred  to  a  grandson  of 
the  poet,  and  is  not  now  likely  ever  to  see  the  light. 


ALFEED  TENNYSON  51 

thing  a  poet  says  in  his  verses  must  have  some  local 

meaning,  or  a  personal  reference.      *  There  are  some 

curious  creatm'es  who  go  about  fishing  for  the  people, 

and  searching  for  the  places,  which  they  fancy  must 

have  given  rise  to  our  poems.     They  don't  understand, 

or  believe,  that  we  have  any  imagination  of  our  own, 

to  create  the  people  or  the  places.    Of  course  we  often 

describe,  but  we  generally  let  that   be  known  easily 

enough.' 

In  this  connection  he  quoted — 

The  seven  elms,  the  poplars  four 
That  stand  beside  my  father's  door. 

These  things,  he  said,  are  returned  to  us  *  by  the  great 
artist  Memory,'  but  when  critics  and  commentators 
search  for  subterranean  meanings  they  generally  lose 
themselves  in  fancies. 

We  then  went  on — I  do  not  remember  what  the  link 
of  connection  was — to  talk  of  Spiritualism,  and  the 
Psychical  Society,  in  which  he  was  much  interested, 
and  also  the  problem  of  Theism.  He  spoke  of  the  great 
realm  of  the  Unknown  which  surrounds  us  as  being 
also  knowTiy  and  having  Intelligence  at  the  heart  of  it  ; 
and  told  more  stories  than  one  of  spirit  manifesta- 
tions as  authentic  emanations  from  the  unknown,  and  as 
proof  that  out  of  darkness  light  could  reach  us. 

At  this  stage  of  our  talk  Mrs.  Hallam  Tennyson 
his  daughter-in-law,  Mrs.  Douglas  Freshfield,  and  her 
daughter,  came  up  the  garden-walk  to  the  summer- 
house.  Miss  Freshfield  wore  a  hat  on  which  was  an 
artificial  flower,   a  lilac  branch.     It  at  once  caught 

B  2 


52  EETEOSPECTS 

Tennyson's  eye.  There  was  a  lilac-tree  in  bloom  close 
at  hand,  and  he  said,  *  What  is  that  you  are  wearing  ? 
It's  a  flowery  lie,  it's  a  speaking  mendacity.'  He  asked 
how  she  could  wear  such  a  thing  in  the  month  of  May  ! 
We  rose  from  the  bower,  and  all  went  down  the  garden- 
walk  to  see  the  fig-tree  at  the  foot  of  it,  and  sundry 
other  things  at  the  western  entrance-door,  where  Miss 
Kate  Greenaway  was  painting.  We  returned  along  a 
twisting  alley  under  the  rich  green  foliage  of  elms  and 
ilexes.  He  spoke  much  of  the  ilex,  a  tree  which  he 
greatly  admired.  We  heard  both  the  cuckoo  and  the 
nightingale.  *  Rosy  plumelets  '  *  tufted  the  larch.'  He 
said  the  finest  larches  he  had  ever  seen  were  at 
Inveraray.  '  What  grand  trees  you  have  in  Scotland  ! 
It's  nonsense  to  complain,  as  some  do,  of  the  want  of 
them.  Dr.  Johnson  was  either  very  unfortunate,  or 
very  inaccurate,  or  incorrectly  reported  by  Boswell  on 
that  point.' 

I  spoke  of  the  destruction  of  our  pine-forests,  and  of 
other  noble  trees,  in  our  late  gales.  He  lamented  it,  for, 
he  said,  *  Your  Scotch  fir  is  a  magnificent  tree,  next  to 
the  oak  in  stateliness  ;  and  how  glorious  the  colour  ! ' 
He  said  he  bewailed  the  loss  of  all  old  things— old  trees, 
old  historic  places,  the  old  creatures  of  the  forest  and 
of  the  air»  *  Aren't  your  eagles  getting  scarce  ?  and  I 
hear  that  even  the  kingfisher  is  less  common  than  it 
was.'  I  replied  that  both  eagle  and  kingfisher  were 
becoming  almost  extinct. 

Walking  up  the  lane  outside  the  grounds  at  the  back 
of  Farringford,  he  pointed  out  the  view  beyond  Fresh- 


ALFKED   TENNYSON  53 

water  to  the  east,  where,  as  he  says  in  a  well-known  poem, 

which  he  quoted  as  we  walked,  using  the  early  version, 

the  hoary  Channel 
Tumbles  a  breaker  on  chalk  and  sand. 

This  led  him  to  speak  of  prehistoric  things,  and  of  the 
wonders  which  Geology  had  brought  to  light.  He 
referred  to  the  period  of  the  Weald,  when  there  was  a 
mighty  estuary,  like  that  of  the  Ganges,  where  we  then 
stood;  and  when  gigantic  lizards,  the  iguanodon,  &c., 
were  the  chief  of  living  things.  As  we  afterwards 
walked  to  and  fro  on  the  lawn  under  the  shade  of  the 
cedars,  sheltered  by  the  *  groves  of  pine '  (to  which  he 
refers  in  his  poem  addressed  to  Maurice),  he  told  me 
— without  the  slightest  touch  of  vanity — that,  when  he 
was  between  thirteen  and  fourteen  years  of  age,  he 
wrote  an  epic  of  several  thousand  lines.  His  father 
was  proud  of  it,  and  said  he  thought  *  the  author  would 
yet  be  one  of  the  great  in  English  Literature '  (good 
prophet  of  the  future,  thought  I)  ;  *  but,'  he  added,  '  I 
burned  it,  when  I  read  the  earliest  poems  of  Shelley. 

*I  don't  care  a  bit  for  various  readings  from  the 
poets,  in  the  volumes  I  use,'  he  said,  '  although  I  have 
changed  my  own  text  a  good  deal.  I  like  to  enjoy  the 
book  I  am  reading,  and  foot-notes  distract  me.  I  like  to 
read  just  straight  on.' 

*  What  do  you  do  with  the  books  which  are  sent  to 
you  ? '  he  asked,  '  and  do  you  get  many  ?  I  have  them 
nearly  every  day,  chiefly  books  of  poetry  or  rhyme.  I 
wish  they  would  rather  send  me  prose.  I  calculate,  by  the 
number  of  verses  which  the  books  contain,  that  I  get  a 


54  EETKOSPECTS 

verse  for  every  three  minutes  of  my  life ;  and  the  worst 
of  it  is  that  nearly  all  the  writers  expect  me  to  answer 
and  acknowledge  them ! '  He  handed  to  me  Dr. 
Kynaston's  Latin  version  of  Bemeter,  a  copy  of  which, 
typewritten,  he  had  received  that  morning.  It  was 
excellent.  I  remarked  on  the  beauty  of  the  type  ;  and 
he  said  he  thought  of  getting  a  typewriting  machine,  to' 
answer  those  correspondents  who  sent  him  their  verses  ! 

He  then  spoke  of  the  labour  necessary  to  produce 
the  best  things  in  poetry,  and  of  the  re-casting  of  verses. 
He  said  he  thought  that  almost  every  poet  did  this 
habitually.  It  was  very  rarely  that  the  simplest  song 
came  into  a  poet's  mind,  in  a  rush  of  melody,  all  at  once. 
He  mentioned  someone  saying  to  him  of  a  friend,  *  Oh  ! 
he  didn't  revise  his  verses ;  his  MSS.  are  all  unblotted.' 
* "  How  do  you  know  ?  "  I  replied.  "  No  one  knows  what 
the  poets  have  done  with  their  verses,  as  they  revise 
and  re-cast  them  before  they  are  written  down."  '  He 
added  that  Ms  chief  work  was  done,  not  as  Wordsworth's 
had  been,  in  the  open  air,  but  in  his  library,  and  in  the 
evenings.  It  seemed  as  if  he  needed  the  quiet  of  the 
close  of  day,  and  the  meditative  reverie  to  which  it  led, 
to  start  him  productively. 

As  we  were  going  toward  the  house,  a  nightingale 
was  singing  loud  and  ceaselessly.  He  told  me  that, 
while  sitting  in  a  grove  on  a  still  evening,  one  of  these 
birds  was  close  beside  him.  *  I  was  as  near  it  as  I  am 
to  you,  and  it  did  not  cease  to  sing.  We  were  so  close 
that  I  felt  the  very  air  move  by  its  wings,  and  it  did 
not  stop  singing,  or  seem  to  notice  me.' 


ALFKED  TENNYSON  56 

Next  day  we  walked  along  the  *  ridge  of  the  noble 
down'  towards  the  Needles.  To  begin  with,  our  talk 
was  chiefly  on  the  problems  of  Philosophy,  and  his 
conversation  on  the  great  questions  of  belief  was  quite 
as  significant  as  his  remarks  on  poetry,  or  even  his 
poems  themselves.  We  spoke  of  the  '  Metaphysical 
Society,'  of  which  he  was  one  of  the  original  promoters, 
along  with  Dr.  Martineau,  Dean  Stanley,  Huxley,  and 
Dr.  Ward.  He  said  he  did  not  often  attend,  being 
seldom  in  London,  but  he  thought  the  meetings  very 
useful.  For  himself  he  did  not  get  much  good  from 
debating  problems,  especially  ultimate  ones  ;  but  the 
camaraderie,  and  the  exchange  of  views  which  took 
place  in  such  a  society,  were  good  for  all  its  members. 

He  raised  the  question,  How  should  Philosophy  be 
defined  ?  The  *  love  of  wisdom  '  was  all  very  well,  but 
to  love  it  and  seek  it,  and  yet  not  find  it,  was  mere 
vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit;  and  the  question  was, 
could  we  find  it  ?  I  said  that  Philosophy  was  both  a 
search  and  a  discovery ;  at  once  a  process  and  a  product. 
*  Yes,'  he  replied ;  *  but  how  is  the  product  produced  ? 
and  I  want  to  know  how  we  are  to  unite  the  One  with 
the  Many,  and  the  Many  with  the  AIL'  I  said  that  was 
the  great  question  of  the  ages,  the  radical  problem  of 
Metaphysics,  and  that  it  was  fundamentally  an  insoluble 
one.  *  For  my  part,'  he  replied,  *  if  I  were  an  old  Greek 
I  would  try  to  combine  the  doctrine  of  Parmenides  with 
that  of  Heraclitus.  I  find  that  both  of  them  are  true 
in  part ;  but  does  not  all  metaphysic  seek  that  which 
underlies  phenomena  ?  '     '  Yes  ;   and  what  it  finds   it 


66  EETEOSPECTS 

reaches  intuitively,  and  at  first-hand.  The  great  beliefs 
are  not  conclusions  deduced  by  logic,  but  premisses 
grasped  by  intuition.  I  think  it  is  not  analysis,  with  a 
view  to  fresh  induction,  that  we  need  nowadays,  so  much 
as  a  new  philosophical  synthesis.'  *In  any  case,'  he 
said,  *we  must  get  to  some  height  above  phenomena. 
We  must  climb  up,  and  we  can't  ascend  a  ladder  without 
rungs.  Isn't  the  ladder  of  analogy  very  useful  in 
metaphysics  ?  '  *  It  is,'  I  replied,  *  but  why  not  dispense 
with  a  ladder  altogether  ?  Its  chief  use  is  to  enable  us 
to  leap  from  it,  and  to  reach  the  Infinite,  not  by  a 
tedious  process  of  ascent,  but  by  discerning  it  everywhere 
within  the  finite.'  *  Yes,'  he  said,  '  I  agree  with  that, 
and  have  tried  to  show  something  of  it  in  a  few  of  my 
poems ;  but  the  outward  world,  where  the  ladders  and 
symbols  are,  is  surely  more  of  a  veil  which  hides  the 
Infinite  than  a  mirror  which  reveals  it.'  I  replied, 
*  Did  not  Browning  put  it  well — 

Some  say  Creation's  meant  to  show  him  forth, 
I  say  it's  meant  to  hide  him  all  it  can.' 

He  then  spoke  of  Darwin,  and  of  the  great  truth  in 
Evolution  ;  but  it  was  only  one  side  of  a  truth  that  had 
two  sides.  *  All  things  are  double  one  against  another.' 
He  also  spoke  of  Giordano  Bruno,  with  whom  he  had 
much  sympathy,  and  wondered  that  so  little  was  written 
about  him. 

From  this  we  passed  to  the  subject  of  Immortality. 
I  ventured  to  say  that  it  was  a  more  pressing  problem 
in  our  time  than  that  of  Theism,  and  that  agnosticism 
had  undermined  it  in  many  quarters.     He  said  he  did 


ALFKED  TENNYSON  57 

not  require  argumentative  proof  of  a  future  life,  and 
referred  me  to  In  Meinoriam,  He  had  nothing  further 
to  say  than  what  he  had  already  said  ;  and,  although 
his  faith  was  not  stated  dogmatically  in  that  poem,  every- 
one could  see  that  he  believed  in  the  survival  of  the 
individual.  He  did  not  profess  to  solve  the  problem, 
but  only  to  lift  from  us  its  *  forward  pressure.'  *  An- 
nihilation was  impossible,  and  inconceivable.  We  are 
parts  of  the  infinite  whole ;  and  when  we  die,  and  our 
souls  touch  the  great  Anima  Mundi,  who  knows  what 
new  powers  may  spring  to  life  within  us,  and  old  ones 
awaken  from  sleep,  all  due  to  that  touch  ?  ' 

The  problem  of  Free- Will  was  next  talked  of,  and  he 
referred  to  the  way  in  which  it  had  been  discussed  by 
Dr.  Ward,  in  the  Biiblin  Review,  and  in  the  columns  of 
the  Spectator.  He  said  he  liked  the  Spectator.  He 
did  not  always  agree  with  its  literary  articles,  but  its 
philosophy  was  good. 

Conversation  then  turned  to  the  newspaper-press, 
and  to  politics.  In  politics,  as  elsewhere,  he  strove  to 
shun  *  the  falsehood  of  extremes.'  I  defined  my  position 
as  that  of  a  liberal  Conservative,  and  a  conservative 
Liberal.    He  said  he  had  written, 

He  is  the  true  Conservative 

Who  lops  the  mouldered  branch  away. 

*  But,'  he  added,  *  the  branch  must  be  a  mouldered  one, 
before  we  should  venture  to  lop  it  off.' 

Listening  to  the  wind  in  the  trees,  and  to  the  sound 
of  running  water — although  it  was  the  very  tiniest  of 
rillets — led  us  away  from  Philosophy ;  and  he  talked  of 


58  KETEOSPECTS 

Sir  Walter  Scott,  characterising  him  as  the  greatest 
novelist  of  all  time.  He  said  *  What  a  gift  it  was  that 
Scotland  gave  to  the  world  in  him.  And  your  Burns  ! 
he  is  supreme  amongst  your  poets.'  He  "praised  Lock- 
hart's  Life  of  Walter  Scott,  as  one  of  the  finest  of 
biographies ;  and  my  happening  to  mention  an  anec- 
dote of  Scott  from  that  book  led  to  our  spending  the 
greater  part  of  the  rest  of  our  walk  in  the  telling  of 
stories.  Tennyson  was  an  admirable  story-teller.  He 
asked  me  for  some  good  Scotch  anecdotes,  and  I  gave 
him  some,  but  he  was  able  to  cap  each  of  them  with  a 
better  one  of  his  own — all  of  which  he  told  with  arch 
humour  and  simplicity. 

He  then  told  some  anecdotes  of  a  visit  to  Scotland. 
After  he  had  left  an  inn  in  the  island  of  Skye,  the  land- 
lord was  asked,  '  Did  he  know  who  had  been  staying  in 
his  house  ?    It  was  the  poet  Tennyson.'    He  replied, 

*  Lor' — to  think  o'  that !  and  sure  I  thoucht  he  was  a 
shentleman ! '  Near  Stirling  the  same  remark  was 
made  to  the  keeper  of  the  hotel  where  he  had  stayed. 

*  Do  ye  ken  who  you  had  wi'  ye  t'other  night  ? '  *  Naa  ; 
but  he  was  a  pleesant  shentleman.'  *  It  was  Tennyson, 
the  poet.'  *  An'  wha'  may  he  he?'  *  Oh,  he  is  a  writer 
o'  verses,  sic  as  ye  see  i'  the  papers.'  *  Noo,  to  think  o' 
that !  jeest  a  pooblic  writer,  an'  I  gied  him  ma  best 
bedroom ! '  Of  Mrs.  Tennyson,  however,  the  landlord 
remarked,  *  Oh  !  but  she  was  an  angel.' 

The  conversational  power  of  Tennyson  struck  me 
quite  as  much  as  his  poetry  had  done  for  forty  years. 
To  explain  this  I  must  compare  it  with  that  of  some 


ALFEED  TENNYSON  59 

of  his  contemporaries.  It  was  not  like  the  meteoric 
flashes  and  fireworks  of  Carlyle's  talk,  which  some- 
times dazzled  as  much  as  they  instructed ;  and  it  had 
not  that  torrent-rush  in  which  Carlyle  so  often  in- 
dulged. It  was  far  more  restrained.  It  had  neither  the 
continuousness  nor  the  dramatic  range  of  Browning's 
many-sided  conversation  ;  nor  did  it  possess  the  charm 
and  ethereal  visionariness  of  Newman's.  It  lacked  the 
fulness  and  consummate  sweep  of  Kuskin's  talk ;  it 
had  neither  the  historic  range  and  brilliance  of  Dean 
Stanley's  speech,  nor  the  fascinating  subtlety — eleva- 
tion and  depth  combined — of  that  of  Frederick  Maurice. 
But  it  was  clear  as  crystal,  and  calm  as  well  as  clear. 
It  was  terse  and  exact,  precise  and  luminous.  Not  a 
word  was  wasted,  and  every  phrase  was  suggestive. 
Tennyson  did  not  monopolise  conversation.  He  wished 
to  know  what  other  people  thought,  and  therefore  to 
hear  them  state  it,  that  he  might  understand  their  posi- 
tion and  ideas.  But  in  all  his  talk  on  great  problems 
he  at  once  got  to  their  essence,  sounding  their  depths 
with  ease  ;  or,  to  change  the  illustration,  he  seized  the 
kernel,  and  let  the  shell  and  its  fragments  alone. 

There  was  a  wonderful  simplicity  allied  to  his  clear 
vision,  and  his  strength.  He  was  more  child-like  than 
the  majority  of  his  contemporaries  ;  and,  along  with 
this,  there  was — as  already  mentioned — a  great  reserve 
of  power.  His  appreciation  of  other  workers  belonging 
to  his  time  was  remarkable.  Neither  he  nor  Browning 
disparaged  their  contemporaries,  as  Carlyle  so  often  did 
when  he  put  them  in  the  pillory.    From  first  to  last, 


60  EETKOSPECTS 

Tennyson  looked  sympathetically  on  all  good  work  ;  and 
he  had  a  special  veneration  for  the  strong  silent  thinkers 
and  workers.  He  was  an  idealist  at  heart.  Underneath 
the  realism  of  his  nature,  this  other  feature  rose  above 
it.  He  was  not  so  much  a  Platonist  as  a  Berkeleyan ; 
but  faith  in  the  great  Kantian  triad — God,  Duty,  Immor- 
tality— dominated  his  life;  God  being  to  him  both 
personal  and  impersonal,  Duty  being  continuous  un- 
selfish devotion  to  the  good  of  all,  and  Immortality  the 
survival  not  only  of  the  race,  but  of  all  the  units  in  it. 
If  in  In  Memoriam  the  '  wild  unrest '  as  well  as  the 
*  honest  doubt '  of  our  nineteenth  century  is  embodied, 
a  partial  solution  of  the  great  enigma  is,  at  the  same 
time,  offered  ;  and  while  the  intellectual  form  of  his 
theism  found  expression  in  such  lines  as 

He,  they,  one,  all,  within,  without. 
The  Power  in  darkness  which  we  guess, 

its  practical  outcome  was  the  attitude  of  trust  and 
worship. 

While  Tennyson  appreciated  the  work  of  Darwin  and 
of  Spencer  far  more  than  Carlyle  did — and  many  of  the 
ideas  and  conclusions  of  modern  Science  are  to  be  found 
in  his  poetry — nevertheless  he  knew  the  limitations  of 
Science,  and  he  held  that  it  was  the  noble  office  of 
Poetry,  Philosophy,  and  Keligion  combined  to  supple- 
ment, and  finally  transcend  it. 

Mrs.  Fischer,  referred  to  at  p.  47,  sends  me  the 
following  memorandum  : 

*  My  recollections  of  Alfred  Tennyson  date  back  to 


ALFKED  TENNYSON  61 

the  year  1853,  at  which  time  he  purchased  the  estate 
of  Farringford,  and  came  to  settle  there.  This  being 
the  adjoining  property  to  Afton  Manor — my  father's 
estate — the  Tennysons  became  our  nearest  neighbours  ; 
and  a  special  introduction  to  them  from  my  cousin,  Sir 
Alexander  Grant,  led  them  to  be  particularly  friendly  to 
us  from  the  first. 

*  Soon  after  the  Tennysons  came  to  Farringford — 
Hallam  being  then  about  two  years  old — their  son  Lionel 
was  born.  He  was  a  dreamy-looking  and  delicate  boy, 
with  a  far-away  and  rather  troubled  look,  and  was  his 
mother's  pet.  She  used  to  give  both  the  boys  their 
lessons,  including  some  easy  gymnastic  exercises,  in  the 
sunny  morning-room,  at  the  back  of  the  house,  looking 
out  upon  the  lawn  and  trees  beyond ;  and  we  often  found 
them  at  their  lessons,  when  we  called  in  the  morning, 
as  we  were  privileged  to  do. 

*  On  other  occasions  we  would  find  Mrs.  Tennyson 
alone  in  the  large  drawing-room — always  writing — 
arrayed  in  a  dress  of  soft  grey  merino,  trimmed  with 
velvet  or  fur,  and  with  a  long  train  ;  a  piece  of  rich  old 
lace,  worn  instead  of  a  cap,  drooping  over  her  hair 
behind  and  coming  to  a  point  in  front.  She  was 
extremely  kind  in  lending  us  books ;  among  these  I 
particularly  remember  Fichte's  philosophical  works, 
which  she  admired  greatly.  Her  manner  was  always 
most  gracious  and  dignified — perhaps  rather  languid, 
but  this  arose  chiefly  from  lack  of  vitality  or  physical 
strength. 

*  When  Lionel  was  about  five  years  old,  a  great  comet 


62  EETEOSPECTS 

appeared ;  on  the  child  seeing  it  for  the  first  time, 
he  exclaimed  *'Am  I  dead,  Mamma?",  the  glorious 
vision  evidently  suggesting  to  his  mind  the  pictures 
which  his  mother  had  drawn  of  the  other  world. 

*  Hallam  was  sweet,  and  more  ordinary-looking  ;  both 
were  always  most  picturesquely  dressed  when  little  boys, 
generally  in  drab  pelisses  lined  with  dark  blue,  and 
white  beaver  hats. 

*I  do  not  remember  my  first  sight  of  the  poet. 
Indeed  we  did  not  see  him  very  often,  for  he  was  shy 
and  seldom  came  into  the  drawing-room  when  callers 
were  there  ;  and  on  one  occasion  we  caught  sight  of  him 
as  we  came  in,  disappearing  through  the  large  window 
which  opened  nearly  to  the  ground.  Then,  too,  in  the 
first  year  of  our  acquaintance,  my  sister  and  I  were  so 
young  that  our  visits  to  Farringford  were  only  in  the 
mornings,  but  after  a  time  we  began  to  be  invited 
occasionally  on  an  evening,  when  friends  were  staying 
there. 

*  One  evening,  when  about  fifteen,  I  was  invited,  with 
my  aunt  Lady  Grant,  and  a  circumstance  occurred 
which  strongly  showed  the  poet's  delicate  consideration 
for  others.  He  had  had  some  religious  discussion  with 
my  aunt,  in  the  course  of  which  he  expressed  his  dis- 
belief in  some  of  her  favourite  orthodox  doctrines ;  Mrs. 
Tennyson  and  myself  listening  to  their  conversation. 
Afterwards  he  asked  my  aunt  to  go  out  of  the  room  and 
speak  with  him  alone ;  and  I  subsequently  learnt  from 
her  that  he  had  then  expressed  his  regret  that  they 
had  discussed  these  questions  in  my  presence,   as  I 


ALFEED  TENNYSON  63 

was  so  young,  and  he  said  he  should  be  very  sorry  to 
unsettle  my  faith. 

'  From  1854  to  1860 — when  I  was  married,  and  left 
Freshwater — our  intercourse  with  Farringford  was  pretty 
constant.  Among  the  Tennysons'  friends  whom  we  met 
during  that  time  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Coventry  Patmore 
— "Mr.  Patmore,  and  his  Angel  in  the  House,"  as 
Mrs.  Tennyson  called  them — ;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Clough, 
he  tall  and  serious,  she  active  and  cheerful  (she  was 
described  by  Mrs.  Tennyson  as  "  a  woman  who  walks  ") ; 
Mr.  Edward  Lear,  the  painter,  and  author  of  Nonsense 
Botany  ;  Mr.,  afterwards  Sir  Francis  Palgrave  (some- 
time Professor  of  Poetry  at  Oxford) ;  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Frederick  Denison  Maurice  (he  quiet,  grave,  and 
kindly,  she  an  invalid)  ;  Mr.  Parker,  the  publisher ; 
Mr.  Venables ;  Mr.  Richard  Doyle,  who  illustrated 
Punch ;  Professor  Jowett ;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tom  Taylor, 
and  many  others. 

*Mrs.  Tom  Taylor  sang  some  of  Tennyson's  songs 
set  to  music  by  herself.  I  remember  especially  her 
charming  rendering  of  The  Miller's  Daughter.  But  no 
one  ever  sang  Tennyson's  songs  like  Mr.  Lear,  nor  have 
I  ever  heard  anything  to  equal  his  rendering  of  "  0  that 
'twere  possible  "  —  for  passion  and  pathos: — the  setting 
was  his  own.  I  heard  Tennyson  say  to  him,  "  You  are 
the  only  person  who  renders  my  songs  after  my  own 
heart." 

*  Two  evenings  among  many  stand  out  in  memory  ; 
and,  as  I  write,  the  scenes  come  before  me  vividly.  On 
these  occasions,  we  went  up  to   Farringford   at  about 


64  EETEOSPECTS 

8  o'clock,  and  were  shown  into  the  large  drawing-room, 
where  Mrs.  Tennyson  was  sitting,  or  lying  on  the  sofa, 
generally  alone  ;  for  they  seldom  had  lady-guests  to  stay. 
The  great  room — with  its  handsome  oaken  mantel-piece 
and  rich  dark  furniture— was  much  in  shadow,  being 
lighted  only  by  a  pair  of  tall  wax  candles.  There  was 
always  a  roaring  fire,  for  those  evenings  were  generally 
in  winter.  Tea  was  spread,  and  we  would  have  a  talk 
with  Mrs.  Tennyson  before  the  gentlemen  came  in  from 
the  dining-room.  As  soon  as  they  appeared,  Mrs. 
Tennyson  made  the  tea  herself,  putting  in  a  large 
quantity  and  allowing  it  to  stand  only  a  minute.  She 
used  a  big  comfortable  iron  kettle,  which  was  always  on 
the  fire  ready. 

'  On  the  first  of  the  two  evenings  to  which  I  have 
referred,  Tennyson  read  the  whole  of  Maud  aloud  to  us. 
When  he  came  to  the  passage, 

"  Maud,  Maud,  Maud,  Maud," 
They  were  crying  and  calling, 

he  turned  suddenly  to  me  and  said,  "  What  birds  were 
those  ?  "  Luckily  I  answered  right ;  whereupon  he  said 
that  someone,  when  asked,  had  replied,  '*  Nightingales  !  " 

*The  second  evening  imprinted  on  my  memory  is 
recorded  in  the  Memoir  of  Tennyson,  by  a  few  words 
quoted  from  Mrs.  Tennyson's  diary.  The  principal 
guests  were  Mr.  Edward  Lear,  Mr.  Franklin  Lushing- 
ton,  and  Sir  John  Simeon. 

'  After  Mr.  Lear's  singing  of  "  0  that  'twere  possible  " 
— when  all  were  hushed  and  subdued,  in  the  dimly  lighted 
room, — Sir  John  Simeon  walked  to  the  window,  drew 


ALFEED  TENNYSON  65 

aside  the  heavy  curtain  and  let  in  the  moonlight,  which 
was  streaming  through  the  trees  and  shrubberies  upon 
the  lawn  close  by,  and  shining  on  the  distant  sea  and 
rocks. 

*The  effect  was  never  to  be  forgotten — the  solemn 
trance-like  feeling,  the  shadowy  room,  the  subdued 
voices,  and  the  pale  moon  looking  down  upon  us. 

*  Other  evenings  I  remember,  of  a  more  ordinary  kind, 
but  all  delightful ;  one  Christmas  Eve  we  played  blind 
man's  buff,  and  Tennyson  was  once  the  "  blind  man." 

*  After  1860, 1  was  much  less  frequently  at  Farringf ord  ; 
but  about  1864  I  met  Longfellow  there.  A  large  garden 
party  had  been  invited  to  meet  him  ;  and  I  well  remember 
the  grave  calm  American  poet,  with  benevolent  face  and 
grey  hair.  Mrs.  Tennyson  led  him  round  the  lawn, 
introducing  him  to  her  guests  in  turn,  with  an 
appropriate  word  to  each. 

*  My  last  visit  to  Farringford  was  at  the  New  Year  of 
1891.  The  great  poet  was  lying  on  the  sofa  in  the 
drawing-room,  near  a  blazing  fire,  sipping  his  tea,  which 
he  sweetened  with  saccharine.  He  was  particularly  kind 
and  genial. 

*  Tennyson  did  not  at  any  time  take  much  part  in 
parish  affairs,  and  he  was  not  a  very  popular  landlord, 
fancying  that  he  was  imposed  upon  by  his  tenants,  which 
was  probably  the  case. 

*  In  the  great  rejoicings  on  the  occasion  of  the  Prince 
of  Wales's  marriage,  however,  he  took  a  leading  part. 
There  was  a  huge  bonfire  on  the  top  of  Farringford  Down, 
and  the  whole  parish  trooped  up  in  the  darkness  to  assist 

I.  V 


66  RETEOSPECTS 

in  the  ceremony  of  lighting  it.  My  mother  told  me 
afterwards  that  Tennyson,  marching  among  them  all, 
was  quite  delighted  at  her  calling  out  "  Forward,  the 
Light  Brigade,"  as  they  were  starting. 

*For  years  Mrs.  Tennyson  acted  as  the  poet's 
amanuensis,  herself  answering  the  numerous  letters  that 
poured  in  upon  him  from  every  quarter.  Many  a 
"  rhymer  "  would  send  his  verses  to  the  poet  for  criticism, 
and  however  useless  they  might  be,  she  kindly  took  some 
notice  of  them. 

*  When  we  first  knew  her,  and  for  long  afterwards,  she 
always  rose  at  7.80  a.m.,  saying  once,  "  I  require  a  long 
day  for  my  work."  Indeed,  she  suffered  latterly  from 
a  sort  of  writer's  paralysis  of  the  arm,  owing  to  over- 
writing, and  was  obliged  to  lay  aside  her  pen  almost 
entirely  during  the  last  years  of  her  life. 

'  The  poet's  firm  belief  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul 
has  been  often  referred  to — particularly  in  the  Memoir  by 
his  son,  and  his  writings  bear  frequent  testimony  to  this 
belief.  I  may  mention  in  this  connection,  that  I  once 
heard  him  say,  "  The  idea  of  annihilation  would  be  more 
horrible  to  me  than  the  idea  of  everlasting  torments."  ' 

Since  reference  has  already  been  made  to  the 
numerous  books  of  rhyme  sent  to  the  poet,  the  following 
may  be  added.  On  December  27,  1890,  he  wrote  from 
Farringford,  acknowledging  receipt  of  a  volume  of 
Essays  in  Philosophy :  *  Thanks  !  thanks  !  for  I  get  a 
volume  of  verse  almost  every  morning,  and  scarcely 
ever  a  bit  of  good  wholesome  prose.  .  .  .' 


ALFRED  TENNYSON  67 

A  friend  writes  to  me  that  Tennyson's  sister  Matilda 
had  spent  the  day  before  with  her,  and  had  regaled  her 
with  stories  of  Alfred's  absentmindedness,  to  her  dire 
discomfiture.  He  loved  the  soothing  influence  of  a 
strong  pipe,  but  he  also  greatly  loved  the  society  of 
Matilda,  and  the  seclusion  of  the  Lincolnshire  orchard. 
There  would  he  wander  with  his  pipe  and  his  sister, 
and  then  would  come  her  daily  trial  through  devotion, 
when  Alfred  forgot  something  he  wanted  (usually  a 
book)  ;  and,  with  grave  injunctions  to  Matilda  to  keep 
his  pipe  alight,  would  meander  back  to  the  house,  the 
world  forgetting  but  not  by  his  sister  forgot,  for  the 
task  assigned  to  her  was  not  easily  discharged.  She 
said  to  my  friend,  *  I  have  never  been  able  to  learn  that 
accomplishment.' 

I  may  mention  another  thing  which  I  owe  to  Sir 
Henry  Irving.  One  evening  he  was  speaking  at  the 
Garrick  Club  about  the  difficulty  of  acting  plays  which 
had  not  been  primarily  written  for  the  stage.  He  said 
he  thought  that  most  poets  who  wrote  at  first  without 
any  intention  of  having  their  plays  produced  on  the 
boards  were  afterwards  disappointed  if  they  found  that 
their  tragedies — however  welcome  to  the  reading  public 
— were  rejected,  or  pronounced  impossible  by  the  stage- 
manager.  He  instanced  Tennyson,  and  told  us  that 
the  Laureate  had  asked  him — with  eagerness,  if  not  with 
intensity — to  explain  why  it  was  that  neither  Harold 
nor  Becket  had  succeeded.  It  would  be  inappropriate 
to  state  our  actor's   opinion   as    then  given,   and  the 

f2 


68  EETEOSPECTS 

various  reasons  advanced  by  the  guests  around  him. 
I  only  mention  the  circumstance  to  show  Tennyson's 
anxiety  to  write  plays  that  would,  when  acted  on  the 
stage,  be  a  delight  and  an  education  to  his  countrymen. 

In  the  case  of  Maurice  a  concluding  paragraph 
described  his  influence  over  his  contemporaries.  A 
similar  remark  may  be  made  as  to  the  impression 
left  by  intercourse  with  Tennyson.  He  saw  so  far  into 
the  heart  of  the  new  problems  of  his  age  which  con- 
fronted him  that  their  abiding  characteristic — *  half- 
concealed,  yet  half-revealed'—came  at  length  to  fascinate 
him.  He  gave  the  unvarying  impression  that  he  had 
gone  down  into  their  depths,  and  then  risen  above  them, 
while  he  continued  to  range  around  them  far  and  wide, 
surveying  them  from  opposite  points  of  the  compass ; 
and  depth,  height,  and  width  combined  are  a  rare  attain- 
ment in  any  man.  Tennyson's  knowledge  of  science 
and  criticism,  of  philosophy  and  history,  of  art  and 
religion  was  great;  and  perhaps  because  of  its  very 
extent  and  completeness,  his  resulting  creed  was  very 
simple.  As  already  said  he  held  to  the  elemental 
postulates  of  the  Kantian  triad,  and  these  satisfied 
him.  A  very  large  part  of  his  life  was  lived  alone ; 
and,  although  he  had  many  friends,  ever  since  the 
death  of  Arthur  Henry  Hallam  he  wrestled  with  most 
problems  in  solitude. 


69 


EOBEBT  BBOWNING 

Of  Eobert  Browning  I  begin  by  saying  that  he  was  one 
of  the  most  delightful  of  human  beings,  more  so  perhaps 
than  any  of  his  contemporaries.  I  never  heard  him  utter 
a  morose  word,  or  assume  an  unsympathetic  attitude 
towards  other  men  of  genius.  He  instinctively  sought 
out  the  best  side  of  everyone,  and  all  his  talk  was  of 
the  true,  the  beautiful,  and  the  good.  Once  only,  when 
the  poetic  work  of  his  wife — and  especially  Aurora 
Leigh — had  been  vehemently  assailed  by  a  contem- 
porary poet,  he  rose  to  the  height  of  a  noble  and 
righteous  indignation,  and  annihilated  the  detractor  by 
keen  satire  and  withering  sarcasm. 

I  first  knew  him  through  a  letter  he  wrote  after  the 
following  sonnet,  by  a  student-friend  who  was  too 
modest  to  send  it  direct,  had  been  forwarded  to  his 
wife,  then  too  feeble  to  respond  herself.  Although 
included  in  the  volume  Pro  Fatria  et  Begina,  issued 
in  1901,  in  aid  of  Queen  Alexandra's  Fund  for  Soldiers 
and  Sailors,  it  may  be  reproduced  here. 

Among  God's  Prophets  of  the  Beautiful 
She  stands  a-tiptoe,  straining  ever  higher, 
With  trembling  lips  and  eyes  all  prayerful, 
For  greater  largesse  of  poetic  fire ; 


70  EETKOSPECTS 

Her  song  is  winged  with  holiest  desire, 
Sped  strongly  upward,  voiced  with  subtlest  art, 
And  not  less  loftily  the  notes  aspire 
Though  all  the  world  is  borne  upon  her  heart. 
Thus  sing,  O  poet,  till  the  time  is  born 
When  men,  God's  poems  perfected,  shall  sway 
All  things  with  song,  and  catch  divinest  bars 
Of  music  from  the  lyric  of  the  morn. 
From  all  the  changing  drama  of  the  day. 
And  the  grand  epos  of  the  nightly  stars. 

His  reply  was  most  courteous,  and  he  asked  myself  and 
the  author  of  the  sonnet  to  call  on  him  when  we  were 
next  in  London.  I  did  so.  His  wife  had  died  in  the 
interval. 

No  one  could  ever  forget  a  first  interview  with 
Browning.  I  remember  during  my  student  years  in  the 
early  fifties  of  last  century,  hearing  from  a  senior — who 
had  left  the  University  and  become  a  European  and 
Asiatic  wanderer,  as  well  as  a  brilliant  press -correspondent 
— that  he  had  been  to  Florence,  and  had  spent  many 
evenings  with  the  Brownings  at  *  Casa  Guidi.'  I  do  not 
think  1  ever  broke  the  tenth  commandment  of  the  Jewish 
Decalogue  more  flagrantly  than  by  then  envying  the  good 
of  my  neighbour.  My  friend,  however,  did  not  seem  to 
think  very  highly  of  the  honour,  and  his  tone  led  me 
at  once  to  think  of  the  poem  Memorabilia  in  which 
Browning  photographs  the  man  who  once  met  Shelley 
and  thought  nothing  of  it,  but  only  laughed  at  his  friend 
caring  much  about  it ;  comparing  the  incident  to  his 
crossing  a  desolate  moor  and  there  picking  up  an  eagle's 
feather,  the  only  thing  worth  remembering. 

When  I  called  at  Warwick  Crescent  I  found  the  poet 


KOBEET  BEOWNING  71 

most  affable  and  genial,  gracious  in  manner  and  radiant 
in  spirit ;  but  what  most  impressed  me  was  the  many- 
sided  fulness  of  his  life,  his  knowledge,  and  his  sympathy ; 
the  multitudinousness  of  the  ways  in  which  he  touched 
and  sounded  the  depths  of  human  experience ;  the  vast 
range  of  his  interests,  and  the  eager  throbbing  intensity  of 
his  nature.  I  had  but  a  short  interview  with  him  on  that 
occasion,  as  Sir  Frederic  Leighton  soon  came  in  to  talk 
on  some  Koyal  Academy  business  ;  but  before  he  arrived 
Browning  had  spoken  in  a  singularly  unreserved  way, 
and  in  very  remarkable  terms,  about  his  wife.  He  said 
it  had  been  his  lot  to  know  many  distinguished  women 
in  his  time,  variously  gifted  and  rarely  good  ;  but  he  had 
never  known  any-one  like  her.  Putting  aside  their 
relationship,  she  was  endowed  with  such  qualities  of 
mind,  imagination,  and  heart  that  she  was,  as  she 
had  described  Madame  Dudevant, 

A  large-brained  woman,  and  large-hearted  man. 

*  As  a  poet,'  he  said,  *  she  excelled  me  in  many  ways.' 

A  year  after  I  went  to  be  professor  at  St.  Andrews, 
some  of  our  students  thought  of  electing  Browning  as 
their  Lord  Kector.  He  had  been  asked  in  the  previous 
year  (1876)  by  some  of  the  Glasgow  students  to  allow 
himself  to  be  nominated  Rector  of  the  Western  University, 
to  which  he  had  replied,  *  I  feel  it  very  hard  to  refuse, 
however  certain  I  am  that  my  unfittingness  for  the 
honour  obliges  me  to  do  so.  You  may  not  know  that 
the  same  offer  was  made  to  me  some  years  ago,  six  I 
believe.    I   am   sure  I  feel  as  much  gratitude  to  the 


72  EETEOSPECTS 

students,  if  not  as  their  goodness  and  sympathy 
deserve,  at  least  as  their  cordiality  will  require.  .  .  . 
How  strange  !  I  arrived  at  Glasgow  one  dark  autumn 
evening  seven  years  since,  passed  a  few  hours  of  the 
next  day  in  seeing  the  town  and  its  memorable  places, 
and  then  left— without  making  acquaintance  of  a  single 
inhabitant ;  and  now  from  Glasgow  comes  all  this  care 
about  me  ! ' 

Knowing  that  I  had  met  the  poet,  and  that  he  had 
declined  the  honour  at  Glasgow,  some  of  our  under- 
graduates called  to  ask  whether  I  could  help  them  to 
induce  him  to  come  to  St.  Andrews.  I  wrote  the  following 
letter  to  aid  them  ;  but,  as  there  were  only  a  few  days 
before  the  election  would  take  place,  I  advised  that  a 
small  deputation  should  proceed  at  once  to  London,  and 
call  on  the  poet  to  plead  their  own  cause. 

♦  The  University,  St.  Andrews :  Nov.  17, 1877. 

* .  .  .  The  students  of  this  University  have  nominated 
you  as  their  Lord  Eector ;  and  intend,  unanimously  I  am 
told,  to  elect  you  to  that  office  on  Thursday. 

*  I  believe  that  hitherto  no  Rector  has  been 
chosen  by  the  undivided  suffrage  of  any  Scottish  Uni- 
versity. They  have  heard,  however,  that  you  are  unable 
to  accept  the  office;  and  your  committee,  who  were 
deeply  disappointed  to  learn  this  afternoon  of  the  way 
in  which  you  have  been  informed  of  their  intentions, 
are,  I  believe,  writing  to  you  on  the  subject.  So  keen  is 
their  regret  that  they  intend  respectfully  to  wait  upon 
you  on  Tuesday  morning  by  deputation,  and  ask  if  you 


KOBEKT  BEOWNING  73 

cannot  waive  your  difficulties  in  deference  to  their  enthu- 
siasm, and  allow  them  to  proceed  with  your  election. 

*  Their  suffrage  may,  I  think,  be  regarded  as  one  sign 
of  how  the  thoughtful  youth  of  Scotland  estimate  the 
work  you  have  done  in  the  world  of  letters. 

*And  permit  me  to  say  that  while  these  rectorial 
elections  in  the  other  Universities  have  frequently 
turned  on  local  questions,  or  been  inspired  by  political 
partisanship,  St.  Andrews  has  honourably  sought  to 
choose  men  distinguished  for  literary  eminence,  and  to 
make  election  to  its  Kectorship  a  tribute  at  once  of 
intellectual  and  moral  esteem. 

*  May  I  add  that  when  the  perfervidum  ingenium  of 
our  northern  race  takes  the  form,  not  of  youthful  hero- 
worship,  but  of  loyal  admiration  and  respectful  homage, 
it  is  a  very  genuine  affair.  In  the  present  instance  it 
is  no  mere  outburst  of  young  and  undisciplined  enthu- 
siasm, but  the  honest  expression  of  a  many-sided  debt, 
the  genuine  recognition  of  those  whose  lives  have  been 
touched  to  some  new  issues  by  what  you  have  taught 
them.  They  do  not  presume  to  speak  of,  or  to  estimate, 
your  place  in  English  Literature.  They  merely  tell 
you,  by  this  proffered  honour— the  highest  in  their  power 
to  bestow — how  they  have  felt  your  influence  over 
them.  .  .  .' 

The  students  failed  to  induce  him  to  depart  from 
his  resolution  not  to  speak  in  public  ;  but  they  were 
received  with  such  urbanity  and  friendliness  that  they 
returned  in  a  state  of  intense  delight.  Before  they 
left,  Browning  presented  each  member  of  the  deputation 


74  KETEOSPECTS 

with  one  of  his  books  in  memory  of  their  visit  to 
him.  The  following  is  what  he  wrote  to  me  on  the 
subject : 

♦London,  19  Warwick  Crescent,  W. :  Nov.  22, 1877. 

*I  really  want  words  to  do  any  sort  of  justice  to 
my  feelings ;  very  mingled  as  they  are,  great  pleasure 
with  much  pain ;  yet  in  which,  after  all,  the  pleasure 
predominates ;  exquisite  pleasure,  I  will  say,  at  the 
evidences  of  sympathy  and  kindness  which  have  indeed 
taken  me  by  surprise.  I  shall  not  trust  myself  to 
stammer  where  I  am  clearly  unable  to  speak.  The 
gentlemen  of  the  deputation  will  have  informed  you  of 
that  refusal  of  the  previous  offer,  made  formally  to  me 
nearly  a  year  ago,  of  the  "  Independent  Club "  at 
Glasgow:  having  been  forced  to  decline  the  same 
honour,  warmly  pressed  upon  me  in  that  instance,  I  felt 
it  impossible  to  seem  to  throw  a  slight  upon  my  friends 
and  supporters  there.  I  believe  I  mentioned  to  them 
that  the  main  difficulty  in  the  case  was  that  I  had  been 
compelled  to  forego  the  distinction  originally  put  within 
my  reach  by  St.  Andrews :  and  now  certainly  no 
academical  dignity  of  a  similar  nature — if  such  existed 
— should  induce  me  to  accept  it :  quite  enough  pride,  or 
something  better  than  it,  remain  to  me  that  I  might 
have  been,  but  for  circumstances  out  of  my  control,  the 
unanimously  chosen  Eector  of  the  University  ! 

*  May  I  beg  you  to  interpret — far  beyond  the  letter 
— the  sense  of  what  I  have  attempted  to  say,  and  to 
believe  me,  for  the  part  yourself  have  taken  in  the 
matter  so  generously,  yours  most  gratefully  ever.' 


EOBEET  BROWNING  75 

The  next  letter  refers  to  a  request  I  made  to  Browning 
that  he  should  become  a  member  of  our  Wordsworth 
Society,  formed  in  the  year  1880. 

•  19  Warwick  Crescent,  W. :  May  17, 1880. 

*  I  shall  be  delighted  as  well  as  honoured  by  the  new 
distinction  you  so  kindly  oiBfer  me.  I  keep  fresh  as  ever 
the  admiration  for  Wordsworth  which  filled  me  on 
becoming  acquainted  with  his  poetry  in  my  boyhood : 
and  the  proposed  club  will  contain  the  name  of  no  more 
thorough  lover  of  his  memory  than, 

*  Yours  very  sincerely, 

*  Egbert  Browning.' 

In  the  autumn  of  the  same  year,  after  the  first  meet- 
ing of  the  Wordsworth  Society  at  Grasmere  under  the 
presidency  of  Bishop  Charles  Wordsworth  of  St. 
Andrews,  I  was  engaged  in  editing  the  poet's  works, 
inserting  the  variations  of  text  which  he  had  made  in 
successive  editions.  The  question  arose  which  should  be 
the  textus  receptus — to  which  the  changes  should  be  ap- 
pended in  footnotes — the  earliest  ?  or  the  latest  version  ? 
Many  preferred  the  final  text  of  the  edition  of  1849. 
Tennyson  did  so  emphatically,  while  Matthew  Arnold 
fell  back  on  that  of  1832 ;  and  others,  such  as  the  late 
Lord  Coleridge,  thought  the  text  of  the  first  editions 
invariably  the  best.  To  show  the  numerous  changes 
on  his  original  text  made  by  Wordsworth,  I  printed  a  few 
samples,  giving  the  variations  in  footnotes,  with  their 
dates  appended,  and  sent  them  to  several  contemporary 


76  EETEOSPECTS 

poets  and  literary  critics,  asking  their  opinion.    Browning 
wrote  as  follows : 

19  Warwick  Crescent,  W. :  July  9,  1880. 

*  You  pay  me  a  compliment  in  caring  for  my  opinion, 
but,  such  as  it  is,  a  very  decided  one  it  must  be.  On 
every  account,  your  method  of  giving  the  original  text, 
and  subjoining  in  a  note  the  variations,  each  with  its 
proper  date,  is  incontestably  preferable  to  any  other.  It 
would  be  so,  if  the  variations  were  even  improvements — 
there  would  be  pleasure  as  well  as  profit  in  seeing  what 
was  good  grow  visibly  better.  But,  to  confine  ourselves 
to  the  single  "  proof  "  you  have  sent  me,  in  every  case 
the  change  is  sadly  for  the  worse :  I  am  quite  troubled 
by  such  spoiling  of  passage  after  passage  as  I  should 
have  chuckled  at  had  I  chanced  upon  them  in  some 
copy,  pencil-marked  with  corrections  by  Jeffrey  or 
Gifford;  indeed,  they  are  nearly  as  wretched  as  the 
touchings-up  of  the  Siege  of  Corinth  by  the  latter. 
If  ever  diabolic  agency  was  caught  at  tricks  with 
*'  apostolic  "  achievement  (see  page  9) — and  "apostolic," 
with  no  "  profanity  "  at  all,  I  esteem  these  poems  to  be 
— surely  you  may  bid  it  "  aroint  "  "  about  and  all  about " 
these  desecrated  stanzas ;  each  of  which  however,  thanks 
to  your  piety,  we  may  hail  I  trust  with  a  hearty 

Thy  long-lost  praise  thou  shalt  regain ; 
Nor  be  less  dear  to  future  men 

Than  in  old  time  I 

» 

His  next  letter  refers  to  the  following  incident.  When 
staying  at  Malvern  in  the  autumn  of  1880,  1  found  that 


EOBBET  BEOWNING  77 

a  water-colour  artist  living  in  Worcester  had  taken  two 
lovely  drawings  of  the  old  Manor  House  of  Hope  End, 
near  Ledbury,  which  was  Mrs.  Browning's  (then  Eliza- 
beth Barrett's)  residence  for  many  years,  where  she  wrote 
The  Lost  Bowery  and  others  of  her  lyrics  and  sonnets. 
I  had  myself  been  hunting  for  '  the  Lost  Bower '  for 
two  days  amongst  the  underwood  of  that  delightful 
valley,  so  wonderfully  described  by  her : 

Green  the  land  is  where  my  daily 
Steps  in  jocund  childhood  played, 
Dimpled  close  with  hill  and  valley, 
Dappled  very  close  with  shade, 
Summer  snow  of  apple-blossoms  running  up  from  glade  to  glade. 

Hope  End  I  found  to  be  a  fine  old  Moorish  structure, 
now  alas  !  converted  into  stables  by  one  who  bought  the 
property,  and  erected  a  modern  mansion  upon  it.  I 
purchased  the  water-colour  drawings  from  the  Worcester 
artist,  but  felt  that  I  ought  not  to  keep  them.  I  sent 
them  to  Browning,  and  this  was  his  reply : 

'  19  Warwick  Crescent,  W. :  December  2,  1880. 

*  I  shall  not  attempt  to  say  how  grateful  I  am  for  your 
kindness. 

*  With  your  generous  permission,  I  retain  the  two 
drawings,  as  they  show  the  house  with  its  summer 
aspect ;  the  photographs  (which  I  beg  your  acceptance 
of,  in  separate  packet)  were  taken  just  before  the 
destruction  of  it,  and  in  consequence  of  its  having  been 
determined  upon.  They  are  bare  prosaic  things,  and  the 
surroundings  are  wintry  enough  ;  but  it  is  all  I  thought 
to  see  of  Hope  End  till  your  present  came  to  help  my 


78  KETEOSPECTS 

mind's  eye.      Believe  me — I    repeat — very  gratefully 
yours.' 

In  the  year  1882  Lord  Coleridge  was  the  president 
of  the  Wordsworth  Society.    We  met  in  the  hall  of  the 
Freemasons'  Tavern,  London.     The  Chief  Justice  was 
detained  in  his  Law  Court  far  past  the  hour  at  which 
we  had  to  commence  proceedings,  and  there  were  many 
important  papers  to  be  read.     Our  committee  (including 
Browning)  were  in  an  ante-room  waiting  somewhat  im- 
patiently.    At  last  I  received  a  courier  message  from 
our  president :  *  Detained  for  half  an  hour  ;  begin  without 
me.'     The  large  audience  in  the  hall  expressed  unmis- 
takably their  annoyance  at  our  delay.     I  went  up  to 
Browning  and  said,  *  You  must  take  the  chair,  and  let  us 
begin.'    He  replied,  *  Impossible ;  I  never  took  the  chair 
at  a  meeting  in  my  life,  nor  can  I  speak  in  public; 
impossible.'     I  replied  that  it  was  equally  impossible  for 
any  other  of  the  committee  to  take  the  chair  in  the 
presence  of  its  most  distinguished  member.     He  resisted, 
but  I  said,  *  Just  step  into  the  chair  and  say,  "  I  am  locum 
tenens  for  Lord  Coleridge,"  and  I  shall  manage  all  the 
rest.'     He  replied,  *  I'll  do  it,'  and  we  walked  in ;  he  took 
the  chair,  and  said  exactly  these  words,  and  I  believe 
that — with  the  exception  of  a  similar  short  utterance  in 
Edinburgh — it  was  the  only  sentence  he  ever  spoke  in 
public.     I  may  say  that  his  delight  at  some  of  the  papers 
read   at   that  meeting   was   great.     In   half  an   hour 
Coleridge  came  in  and  relieved  him  from  the  position 
of  chairman,  to  his  great  satisfaction. 


KOBEKT  BEOWNING  79 

The  next  letter  refers  to  a  request  that  he  would 
honour  our  Wordsworth  Society  in  1883  by  either  con- 
tributing a  paper,  or  saying  something  about  his  great 
predecessor  at  our  meeting  that  year.  It  gives  a 
characteristic  revelation  of  one  who  was  considered  so 
much  a  man  of  society  (which  he  certainly  was),  but  was 
also  most  reluctant  to  be  dragged  into  the  light  of  day. 

In  the  letter  to  which  this  is  a  reply  I  had  mentioned 
having  found  in  the  autobiography  of  Haydon  the 
following  reference  to  the  one  of  his  five  portraits  of 
Wordsworth,  on  which  Mrs.  Browning  wrote  the  sonnet 
beginning,  '  Wordsworth  upon  Helvellyn.' 

*  October  1842.— He  sent  ...  to  Miss  E.  B.  Barrett 
...  the  portrait  of  Wordsworth  on  Helvellyn  painted 
this  year.'  The  sonnet  followed  :  and  then,  on  June  18, 
1846,  just  four  days  before  his  melancholy  end,  the 
following  sentence  occurs  in  his  journal :  *  I  sent  .  .  . 
Wordsworth  ...  to  Miss  Barrett  to  protect ; '  while 
in  his  will  there  is  the  entry,  *  I  leave  MSS.  and  my 
memoirs  in  the  possession  of  Miss  Barrett.' 

I  asked  whether  he  knew  to  what  portrait  Haydon 
referred.    Browning  replied : 

♦  19  Warwick  Crescent,  W. :  July  27,  1882. 

*  Your  very  kind  letter  has  been  far  too  long  un- 
answered, really  from  the  repugnance  I  feel  at  being 
obliged  to  withhold  any  absolute  promise  to  contribute 
a  paper  to  the  Transactions :  if  I  find  I  can,  you  shall 
know ;  I  engage  so  far.  *'  Vain  aspiration  of  an  earnest 
will ! " 


80  EETEOSPECTS 

*  I  remember  all  those  sad  circumstances  connected 
with  the  last  doings  of  poor  Haydon.  He  never  saw  my 
wife,  but  interchanged  letters  with  her  occasionally.  On 
visiting  her  the  day  before  the  painter's  death,  I  found 
her  room  occupied  by  a  quantity  of  studies  ;  sketches 
and  portraits,  which,  together  with  paints,  palettes  and 
brushes,  he  had  chosen  to  send  in  apprehension  of  an 
arrest,  or  at  all  events  an  "execution"  in  his  own  house. 
The  letter  which  apprised  her  of  this  step  said,  in  excuse 
of  it,  "  they  may  have  a  right  to  my  goods  ;  they  can 
have  none  to  my  mere  work-tools  and  necessaries  of 
existence,"  or  words  to  that  effect.  The  next  morning 
I  read  the  news  in  the  Times,  and  myself  hastened  to 
break  the  news  at  Wimpole  Street,  but  had  been  an- 
ticipated. Every  article  was  at  once  sent  back,  no 
doubt.  I  do  not  remember  noticing  Wordsworth's 
portrait.  It  certainly  never  belonged  to  my  wife  at 
any  time.  She  possessed  an  engraving  of  the  Head — 
I  suppose  a  gift  from  poor  Haydon.' 

The  following  explains  itself.  I  tried  hard  to  get 
him  to  abandon  his  resolution  not  to  read  or  speak  at 
our  meeting  in  1883.  He  said  he  would  come  to  the 
Abbey,  since  Matthew  Arnold  was  to  preside  and  Kuskin 
would  possibly  attend,  but  he  could  take  no  public  part 
in  our  proceedings. 

'  19  Warwick  Crescent,  W. :  March  21,  1883. 

*  I  SO  hate  saying  "  no  "  to  a  request  from  you — the 
kinder  and  more  gracious  the  request,  the  harder  its 
evasion  or  refusal, — that  I  have  let  the  days  go  on  until, 


KOBEET  BKOWNING  81 

being  forced  to  reply  to  a  somewhat  similar  demand  just 
made  on  me,  I  asked  myself  whether  it  would  not  be  a 
wiser  economy  of  pain  to  at  once  assure  you  that,  for 
many  reasons,  I  am  quite  unable  to  do  even  the  poor 
little  service  to  that  great  memory  of  Wordsworth  which 
you  honour  me  by  supposing  I  might  render.  I  do 
increasingly  feel  (cowardly  as  seems  the  avowal)  the 
need  of  keeping  the  quiet  corner  in  the  world's  van 
which  I  have  got  used  to  for  so  many  years.  "  This 
comes  too  near  the  explaining  of  myself "  ;  and  you 
will  therefore  let  me  begin,  and  end,  by  saying  with  all 
sincerity,  that  I  am  gratefully  and  humbly,  yours 
ever.  .  .  .' 

This  letter  reached  me  before  our  meeting  took 
place  : 

'  19  Warwick  Crescent,  W. :  May  1,  1883. 

*  I  am  really  thankful  for  the  opportunity  of  at  once 
acquainting  you  with  the  reason  which — to  my  great 
regret — will  prevent  me  from  being  present  to-morrow 
at  the  meeting  in  the  Abbey.  I  had  so  counted  upon 
attending  that  I  refused  an  invitation  to  dinner  on  the 
day  in  question,  lest  the  necessity  of  returning  home 
should  oblige  me  to  curtail  my  stay — as  was  the  case 
last  year.  But  I  am,  quite  unexpectedly,  obliged  to  go 
to  Oxford  and  attend  at  Balliol.  I  can  only  repeat  my 
assurance  that  my  regret  is  extreme,  and  beg  you  to 
believe  me  yours  most  truly.' 

In  1884  our  St.  Andrews  students  made  another  at- 
tempt to  induce  Browning  to  become  their  Lord  Eector, 
the  year  in  which  Lord  Keay  was  subsequently  chosen. 

I.  G 


82  EETEOSPECTS 

I  had  written  to  tell  him  of  this  persistent  undergraduate 
wish  to  see  him  in  office  here  ;  and,  in  the  same  letter, 
I  asked  him  if  he  could  tell  me  anything  about  Mr.  Ken- 
yon,  the  *  cousin '  and  *  friend  '  to  whom  Aurora  Leigh 
is  dedicated.  This  was  because  a  London  barrister, 
Mr.  Hutchings,  had  kindly  sent  me  some  sixteen  letters 
of  Wordsworth's  to  Mr.  Kenyon,  that  I  might  make 
use  of  them  in  my  Life  of  the  poet,  or  in  the  Trans- 
actions of  the  Wordsworth  Society.  Mr.  Hutchings 
had  suggested  that  I  might  ask  Browning  for  a  brief 
notice  of  Kenyon,  which  might  serve  as  a  sort  of  thread 
on  which  the  letters  might  be  strung.  He  had  received 
the  letters  in  1880  from  Mr.  George  Booth,  son  of 
Mr.  James  Booth,  C.B.,  at  one  time  counsel  to  the 
Speaker  in  the  House  of  Commons,  and  residuary 
legatee  to  Mr.  Kenyon. 

Browning  replied  as  follows.  [I  may  be  forgiven 
for  not  omitting  the  P.S.,  from  the  way  in  which  it 
indicates  his  view  of  the  Hereafter.] 

*  19  Warwick  Crescent,  W. :  Jan.  10,  1884. 

*  All  thanks  for  your  letter  with  the  good  wishes, 
which  I  heartily  reciprocate.  The  honour  of  standing 
for  the  Lord  Rectorship  was,  by  the  same  post,  proposed 
to  me  as  you  expected,  and  very  respectfully  (in  no 
conventional  sense)  declined  as  on  former  occasions. 
I  am  glad  to  see  that  Lord  Reay  is  again  a  candidate ;  ^ 
no  fitter  one  could  be  suggested. 

'  This  should  have  been  written  '  is  again  proposed.'  The  Scottish 
Lord  Rectors  do  not  become  candidates,  but  are  selected  by  the  students, 
and  brought  forward  by  them. 


EOBEKT  BEOWNING  83 

*  With  respect  to  the  information  you  desire  about 
Mr.  Kenyon ;  all  that  I  do  "  know  of  him  better  than 
anybody,"  perhaps,  is  his  great  goodness  to  myself; 
singularly  little  respecting  his  early  life  came  to  my 
knowledge.  He  was  the  cousin  of  Mr.  Barrett ;  second 
cousin,  therefore,  of  my  wife,  to  whom  he  was  ever 
deeply  attached.  I  first  met  him  at  a  dinner  of  Serjeant 
Talfourd's,  after  which  he  drew  his  chair  by  mine  and 
inquired  whether  my  father  had  been  his  old  school- 
fellow and  friend  at  Cheshunt :  adding  that,  in  a  poem 
just  printed,  he  had  commemorated  their  playground 
fights,  armed  with  sword  and  shield,  as  Achilles  and 
Hector,  some  half-century  before.  On  telling  this  to 
my  father  at  breakfast  next  morning,  he  at  once,  with 
a  pencil,  sketched  me  the  boy's  handsome  face — still 
distinguishable  in  the  elderly  gentleman's  I  had  made 
acquaintance  with.  Mr.  Kenyon  at  once  renewed  his 
own  with  my  father,  and  became  my  fast  friend  :  hence 
my  introduction  to  Miss  Barrett.  He  was  one  of  the 
best  of  human  beings,  with  a  general  sympathy  for 
excellence  of  every  kind.  He  enjoyed  the  friendship  of 
Wordsworth,  of  Southey,  of  Landor  ;  and,  in  later  days, 
was  intimate  with  most  of  my  own  contemporaries  of 
eminence.  I  believe  that  he  was  born  in  the  West 
Indies,  whence  his  property  was  derived,  as  was  that 
of  Mr.  Barrett ;  persistently  styled  a  "  merchant "  by 
biographers  who  will  not  take  the  pains  to  do  more 
than  copy  the  blunders  of  their  forerunners  in  the 
business  of  article-mongery.  He  was  twice  married, 
but  left  no  family :  I  should  suggest  Mr.  Scharf  (of  the 

Q  2 


84  KETEOSPECTS 

National  Portrait  Gallery)  as  a  far  more  qualified  in- 
formant on  all  such  matters ;  my  own  concern  having 
mainly  been  with  his  exceeding  goodness  to  me,  and 
mine :  and  all  you  can  say  in  his  praise  will  be 
thoroughly  warranted,  I  am  sure. 

*  Ever  yours,    *    * 

*  P.S.  I  open  the  envelope  to  say — what  I  had  nearly 
omitted — that  Lord  Coleridge  proposed,  and  my  humble 
self,  at  his  desire,  seconded  you,  last  evening,  for 
admission  to  the  "  Athenaeum."  I  had  the  less  scruple 
in  offering  my  services  that  you  will  most  likely  never 
see  in  the  offer  anything  but  a  record  of  my  respect  and 
regard,  since  your  election  will  come  on,  when  I  shall 
be— dare  I  hope  ?  "  elect  "—in  even  a  higher  society  ! 

—E.  b; 

In  the  same  year  our  Wordsworth  Society  met  under 
the  presidency  of  Lord  Houghton  at  his  sister's  house, 
and  some  of  the  members  renewed  the  request  of  1882, 
that  he  should  move  the  customary  vote  of  thanks  to 
the  chairman.  This  was  declined  by  Browning,  and 
Mr.  James  Bryce,  M.P.,  took  his  place.  He  afterwards 
wrote  as  follows  : 

'  19  Warwick  Crescent,  W. :  May  9,  1884. 

*  I  seem  ungracious  and  ungrateful,  but  am  neither, 
though,  now  that  your  festival  is  over,  I  wish  I  could 
have  overcome  my  scruples  and  apprehensions.  It  is 
hard  to  say — when  kind  people  press  one  to  "just  speak 
for  a  minute  " — that  the  business,  so  easy  to  almost 
anybody,  is  too  bewildering  for  oneself.' 


EGBERT  BROWNING  85 

In  the  following  year  he  wrote,  enclosing  some  letters 
of  his  wife's  in  reference  to  Wordsworth.  He  also,  in 
the  same  letter,  promised  to  select  and  send  a  list  of  the 
poems  which  struck  him  *  as  those  worthiest  of  the 
master.'  This  was  in  response  to  a  request  made  to 
him,  and  to  some  other  members  of  the  Wordsworth 
Society,  to  make  selections  with  a  view  to  publication. 
This  was  his  letter : 

'  19  Warwick  Crescent,  W  :  August  10,  1885. 

'  Now  that  I  have  found  the  letters — of  which  all  my 
knowledge  was  that  they  somewhere  existed — they 
prove  to  be  so  unimportant  and  uncharacteristic  of 
anything  but  the  writer's  good  nature,  that  I  can  hardly 
think  you  will  care  to  make  use  of  them.  This  is,  however, 
your  affair ;  mine  being  simply  to  redeem  my  promise 
of  submitting  them  to  you,  which  is  done  accordingly. 
You  will  have  the  goodness  to  return  them  in  any  case. 

'  I  will,  as  you  desire,  attempt  to  pick  out  the 
twenty  poems  which  strike  me  (and  so  as  to  take  away 
my  breath !)  as  those  worthiest  of  the  master.  I 
deprecate  all  charges  of  presumption,  but  will  very 
humbly  give  my  poor  opinion  for  what  it  is  worth. 

*  I  was  exceedingly  sorry  to  be  absent  from  the  meet- 
ing of  the  Society,  but  had  an  old  engagement  which 
I  could  not  escape.' 

It  was  followed  by  two  other  letters  later  on : 

'  19  Warwick  Crescent,  W. :  November  30,  1885. 

*  Your  letter  of  the  first  was,  after  some  delay,  duly 
forwarded  to  me  at  Venice,  whence  I  have  just  returned. 


86  EETKOSPECTS 

At  Venice — where  was  a  complete  edition  of  Wordsworth 
to  be  found,  or  even  hoped  for?  and,  without  such  a 
necessary  assistance,  I  was  unable  to  comply  with  your 
request  and  attempt  the  selection  you  engage  me  to 
furnish.  Pray  forgive  what  has  been  anything  but 
neglect  on  my  part.  I  come  home  to  plenty  of  matters 
claiming  prompt  attention  ;  and  an  off-hand  profession 
of  choice  in  such  a  matter  would  be  too  foolishly 
presumptuous:  but,  if  you  will  indulge  me  yet  a  little 
longer,  I  will  do  my  best — whatever  may  be  its  worth — 
and  submit  my  preferences  to  your  judgment.  The 
edition  I  shall  use  is  that  belonging  to  my  wife — 
pencil-marked  throughout,  in  which  circumstance  there 
may  lie  some  help  to  me. 

*  The  letters,  I  should  mention,  came  safely. — B.  B.' 

'  19  Warwick  Crescent,  W :  February  24,  1886. 

*  I  have  kept  you  waiting  this  long  while — and  for 
how  shabby  a  result !  You  must  listen  indulgently  while 
I  attempt  to  explain  why  I  am  forced  to  disappoint  you. 
One  remembers  few  more  commonplace  admonitions  to 
a  poet  than  that  he  would  wiselier  have  written  but  a 
quarter  of  the  works  which  he  has  laboured  at  for  a  life- 
time; unless  it  be  this  other,  often  coupled  with  it: 
that  such  works  ought  to  be  addressed  to  the  general 
apprehension,  not  exclusively  suited  to  the  requirements 
of  a  (probably  quite  imaginary)  few.  Each  precept 
contradicts  the  other.  Write,  on  set  purpose,  for  the 
many,  and  you  will  soon  enough  be  reminded  of  the  old 
quot  homines  and  write  as  conscientiously  for  the 
few — your  idealised  "double"  (it  comes  to  that) — and 


EOBEET  BEOWNING  87 

you  may  soon  suit  him  with  the  extremely  little  that  suits 
yourself. 

*  Now,  in  view  of  which  of  these  objects  should  the 
maker  of  a  selection  of  the  works  of  any  poet  worth 
the  pains  begin  his  employment  ?  I  have  myself 
attempted  the  business,  and  know  something  of  the 
achievements  in  this  kind  of  my  betters.  They  furnish 
a  list  of  the  pieces  which  the  selector  has  found  most 
delight  in  :  and  I  found  also  that  others,  playing  the 
selector  with  apparently  as  good  a  right  and  reason, 
were  dissatisfied  with  this  unaccountable  addition, 
that  as  inexplicable  omission ;  in  short,  that  the  sole 
selector  was  not  himself :  the  only  case  in  which  no  such 
stumbling-block  occurs  being  that  obvious  one — if  it  has 
ever  occurred — when  a  public  wholly  unacquainted  with 
an  author  is  presumed  to  be  accessible  to  a  specimen 
of  his  altogether  untried  productions  ;  for,  by  chance- 
medley,  a  sample  of  the  poetry  of  Brown  and  Jones 
may  pierce  the  ignorance  of  somebody,  say  of  Kobinson. 

*  It  is  quite  another  matter  of  interest  to  know  what 
Matthew  Arnold  thinks  most  worthy  in  Wordsworth  : 
but  should  anybody  have  curiosity  to  inquire  which  "15 
or  20  "  of  his  poems  have  most  thoroughly  impressed 
such  an  one  as  myself,  all  I  can  affirm  is  that  I  treasure 
as  precious  every  poem  written  during  about  the  first 
twenty  years  ^  of  the  poet's  life  :  after  these,  the  solution 
grows  weaker,  the  crystals  gleam  more  rarely,  and  the 
assiduous  stirring-up  of  the  mixture  is  too  apparent  and 

So  it  is  written,  but  he  meant  forty,  and  afterwards  in  conversation 
put  it  at  thirty-five. 


88  KETEOSPECTS 

obtrusive.     To  the  end,  crystals  are  to  be  come  at ;  but 

my  own  experience  resembles  that  of  the  old  man  in  the 

admirable  Besolution  and  Independence  : 

Once  I  could  meet  with  them  on  every  side, 
But  they  have  dwindled  long  by  slow  decay — 
Yet  still  I  persevere,  and  find  them  where  I  may  ; 

that  is ;  in  the  poet's  whole  work,  which  I  should 
leave  to  operate  in  the  world  as  it  may,  each  recipient 
his  own  selector. 

'I  only  find  room  to  say  that  I  was  delighted  to 
make  acquaintance  with  your  daughter,  and  that  should 
she  feel  any  desire  to  make  that  of  my  sister  we  shall 
welcome  her  gladly.' 

I  afterwards  sent  him  a  list  of  the  poems  chosen  to  be 
included  in  this  volume  of  selections.  He  went  over 
them  with  minute  care,  marking  all  those  which  he 
specially  liked,  and  adding  several  which  I  had  omitted. 
He  then  wrote  as  follows  : 

♦  19  Warwick  Crescent,  W. :  March  23,  1887. 

*  I  have  seemed  to  neglect  your  commission  shame- 
fully enough,  but  I  confess  to  a  sort  of  repugnance  to 
classifying  the  poems  as  even  good  and  less  good, 
because  in  my  heart  I  fear  I  should  do  it  almost  chrono- 
logically— so  immeasurably  superior  seem  to  me  the 
"  first  sprightly  runnings."  Your  selection  would  appear 
to  be  excellent,  and  the  partial  admittance  of  the  latter 
work  prevents  one  from  observing  the  too  definitely 
distinguishing  black  line  between  supremely  good  and — 
well,  what  is  fairly  tolerable — from  Wordsworth,  always 


KOBEET  BEOWNING  89 

understand  !  I  have  marked  a  few  of  the  early  poems 
not  included  in  your  list :  I  could  do  no  other  when  my 
conscience  tells  me  that  I  never  can  be  tired  of  loving 
them — while,  with  the  best  will  in  the  world,  I  could 
never  do  more  than  try  hard  to  like  them.  You  see, 
I  go  wholly  upon  my  individual  likings  and  distastes  ; 
that  other  considerations  should  have  their  weight  with 
other  people  is  natural  and  inevitable. 

*Many  thanks  for  the  volume  just  received— that 
with  the  correspondence.  I  hope  that  you  will  restore 
the  swan-simile  so  ruthlessly  cut  away  from  Dion.' 

The  following  is  the  list  of  Wordsworth's  *  early 
poems,'  referred  to  in  the  preceding  letter,  marked  by 
Browning,  which  he  *  never  could  be  tired  of  loving,' 
but  *  could  never  do  more  than  try  hard  to  like  ' :  The 
Beverie  of  Poor  Susan;  Goody  Blake  and  Harry 
Gill ;  The  Complaint  of  a  Forsakeyi  Indian  Woman  ; 
The  Danish  Boy,  a  Fragment ;  Bob  Boy's  Grave ; 
The  Farmer  of  Tilsbury  Vale ;  Power  of  Music ; 
Stargazers ;  Dion;  The  Eclipse  of  the  Sun,  1820 ; 
A  Jewish  Family. 

Two  days  later  came  the  following,  indicating  mis- 
prints in  the  volume  of  the  Wordsworth  Society  Trans- 
actions for  the  year : 

•  19  Warwick  Crescent,  W. :  March  25,  1887. 

*  Do  you  observe  two  noteworthy  misprints  in  the 
Transactions  ? 


90  EETKOSPECTS 

*  Page  139,  penultimate  line :  "  the  younger  critics 

require   higher   reasoning  than  I  can  give."     Surely, 

"  seasoning  "  ?  And,  worse  still,  page  182  : 

But  why  be  so  glad  on 
His  feats  or  his  fall  ? 
His  got  his  red  ribbon 
And  laughs  at  us  all. 

*  Kead  "  glib  on,"  meo  periculo  ! — rhyme,  reason,  and 
grammar  demanding  the  change. 

*  You  got,  I  hope,  my  letter  with  the  previous  number 
of  the  Transactions,' 

This  led  to  some  correspondence  as  to  misprints. 
I  told  him  of  the  trouble  which  many  had  over 
Sordello,  because  of  its  errors  in  punctuation;  and 
asked  him  whether  there  was  not  a  misprint  in  the  song 
in  Pippa  Passes ,  beginning. 

All  service  ranks  the  same  with  God ; 

*  than  '  being  printed,  when  it  should  have  been  *  that.' 
Pippa 's  song  is  familiar,  but  may  be  quoted ; 

Ail  service  ranks  the  same  with  God : 

If  now,  as  formerly  he  trod 

Paradise,  his  presence  fills 

Our  earth,  each  only  as  God  wills 

Can  work — God's  puppets,  best  and  worst, 

Are  we ;  there  is  no  last  nor  first. 

Say  not '  a  small  event ' !     Why  '  small '  ? 

Costs  it  more  pain  that  this,  ye  call 

A  '  great  event '  should  come  to  pass, 

Than  that  ?     Untwine  me  from  the  mass 

Of  deeds  which  make  up  life,  one  deed 

Power  shall  fall  short  in,  or  exceed  1 


EOBEET  BEOWNING  91 

Well,  the  eighth  line  is  printed  *  than  this '  instead  of 
*  that  this.'     The  following  was  his  reply : 

*  19  Warwick  Crescent,  W. :  April  7,  1887. 

*  The  misprint  of  "  than  "  for  "  that "  struck  me  long 
ago ;  unluckily  the  present  edition  is  stereotyped,  hardly 
admitting  of  a  change.  On  referring  to  the  original 
edition,  I  observe  the  passage  runs 

Costs  it  more  pain — the  thing  ye  call  &c. 

*I  shall  probably  restore  this,  which  seems  better 
than  the  alteration. 

*My  experience  of  printers'  errors  is  considerable. 
Presupposing  due  care  on  the  corrector's  part ;  any 
subsequent  misplacement  of  the  types  is  readjusted  by 
the  printer  as  he  best  can,  without  the  troublesome 
reference  to  the  "  Keader."  Again  ;  writers  of  verse 
are  particularly  subject  to  an  accident  of  less  importance 
in  prose— the  dropping  out  of  the  stop  at  the  end  of  the 
line ;  which,  omitted,  makes  the  sense  (or  nonsense) 
run  into  the  following  one.  This  occurs  again  and  again 
in  my  own  books,  through  no  fault  of  mine,  and  is 
never  noticed  ;  so  acute  are  the  critics  ! 

*I  am  glad  you  are  coming  here  in  May,  and  shall 
be  happy  to  see  you  again.' 

Browning  once  said  to  me  that  all  the  unintelligibility 
of  Bordello  was  due  to  the  printers.  They  would 
change  his  puncttiation,  and  not  print  his  own  commas, 
semicolons,  dashes,  and  brackets. 


92  EETEOSPECTS 

He  wrote : 

•  29  De  Vere  Gardens,  W. :  May  8,  1888. 

'  Thank  you  heartily  for  your  kindest  of  notes. 
I  only  wish  I  could  have  seen  you,  and  assured  you  by 
word  of  mouth  how  much  I  value  your  friendship  and 
reciprocate  your  good  wishes. 

'  We  have  been  somewhat  unfortunate  in  regard  to 
Miss  Knight,  who  has  called  here  and  found  nobody ; 
will  she  think  it  worth  while  to  try  again  and  gratify 
us?' 

In  June  1888  Browning  wrote  thus  to  a  friend.  The 
opinion  expressed  is  a  curious  one,  but  it  is  reproduced 
merely  because  it  was  his : 

'  29  De  Vere  Gardens,  W. 

.  .  .  *  I  am  delighted  to  hear  that  there  is  a  likelihood 
of  your  establishing  yourself  in  London,  and  illustrating 
literature  as  happily  as  you  have  expounded  philosophy. 
It  is  certainly  the  right  order  of  things,  philosophy  first, 
and  poetry — which  is  its  highest  outcome — afterwards  ; 
and  much  harm  has  been  done  by  reversing  the  natural 
process.' 

In  the  beginning  of  the  same  month  I  visited 
Florence  for  the  first  time,  before  attending  the  octo- 
centenary  of  the  University  of  Bologna.  I  spent  a 
fortnight  in  the  fair  Tuscan  city,  during  which  time 
George  Eliot's  Bomola,  Kuskin's  Mornings  in  Florencey 
and  Browning's  Poems  were  to  me,  as  they  have  been 
to  so  many,  instructors   and  guides.      Before  leaving 


EOBEET   BEOWNING  93 

I  went  out  to  the  Protestant  cemetery  and  laid  a  laurel 
wreath  on  the  grave  of  Walter  Savage  Landor,  another 
on  the  last  resting-place  of  Arthur  Hugh  Clough,  and 
a  large  Florentine  lily  on  Mrs.  Browning's  tomb.  On 
the  same  day  I  wrote  to  Browning,  to  tell  him  of  my 
visit,  and  what  I  owed  to  him  in  Florence.  As  he 
kept  my  letters,  and  his  son  has  returned  them  to  me, 
I  may  perhaps  include  this  one,  along  with  his  reply 
to  it: 

'  Florence,  June  10,  1888. 

'  I  have  been  six  days  in  Florence,  but  they  have 
been  as  six  years  of  new  experience.  It  is  my  first  visit 
to  this  fairest  of  cities,  and  the  hours  have  passed  in 
one  long  apocalypse  of  beauty  and  of  glory.  As  it  is 
to  you  and  Mrs.  Browning,  along  with  Euskin  and 
George  Eliot,  that  I  owed  most  of  my  knowledge  of 
Florence  before  I  came  to  it,  I  follow  the  instinct  which 
impels  me  to  write  to  you  before  I  leave  the  city  for 
Bologna. 

*  I  have  risen  each  morning  at  four  o'clock,  and  have 
been  both  to  San  Miniato  and  Fiesole  at  dawn.  I  have 
climbed  Giotto's  tower,  and  Brunelleschi's  dome  at 
sunset.  I  have  studied  with  wondering  delight  the 
frescoes  in  Santa  Croce,  the  Carmine,  and  Santa  Maria 
Novella,  revisiting  each  three  times ;  and  lingered  long 
in  the  Uffizi  and  the  Pitti  galleries.  The  Duomo  has 
fascinated  me  with  the  splendour  of  its  architecture  and 
its  music.  The  Donatellos  round  San  Michele,  the 
Luca  della  Eobbias  everywhere,  and  the  works  of  three 
great  Tuscan  masters  scarcely  known  to  me  before — 


94  EETKOSPECTS 

Verrocchio,  Eossellino,  and  Rovezzano — the  Bargello, 
and  the  Ghiberti  gates,  have  revealed  much ;  but  the 
Giottos,  the  Botticellis,  the  Andrea  del  Sartos,  and  the 
Masaccios,  these  have  magnetised  me.  I  have  had 
wonderful  weather.  The  nightingales,  and  fireflies  in 
the  Boboli  gardens,  have  added  an  element  new  and 
delightful  beyond  words,  while  each  day  I  have  had 
a  swim  in  the  waters  of  the  Arno. 

*I  stood  a  long  time  before  the  house  in  Casa 
Guidi,  but  did  not  enter  it.  To-day,  however — almost 
my  last  act  before  leaving  the  city — I  went  out  to  the 
English  cemetery,  and  laid  a  large  white  lily  on  that 
tomb  which  will  for  generations  be  a  place  of  reverent 
pilgrimage  to  many ;  placing  also  a  laurel  branch 
on  Clough's  grave,  and  another  on  Walter  Savage 
Landor's. 

*  Over  and  over  again,  during  these  days  of  perpetual 
delight  and  continuous  revelation,  I  have  turned  to  your 
and  Mrs.  Browning's  words;  and  have  found  that  by 
means  of  them,  for  me  in  this  place  "  the  fountains  of 
the  great  deep  were  broken  up."  In  no  other  city  is  it 
so  easy  as  in  Florence  to  go  back  into  the  past;  and 
during  any  of  these  days  it  would  have  seemed  quite 
natural  to  have  met  Dante  or  Giotto  on  the  Ponte 
Vecchio,  or  Savonarola  and  Michael  Angelo  ac  some 
street  corner.  But  this  too  I  am  constrained  to  say, 
that  in  no  burial-place  in  the  world  have  the  same 
emotions  of  reverence  and  thanksgiving  been  felt 
by  me,  except  at  Stratford-on-Avon  and  at  Grasmere. 
Forgive  me  rof  saying  so  much.  .  .  .' 


EOBEKT  BKOWNING  95 

To  this  Browning  replied  : 

'  29  De  Vere  Gardens,  W. :  June  19,  1888. 

*  Many  thanks  for  your  exceedingly  kind  and  highly 
interesting  letter.  It  was  good  of  you  to  think  so  much 
of  my  wife  and  myself  amid  the  excitement  attending 
a  first  visit  to  the  city  we  loved  so  well.  I  should  have 
much  enjoyed  talking  over  the  present  and  past  condition 
of  Florence  with  you,  but  I  leave  this  afternoon  for 
Oxford,  where  I  pass  the  rest  of  the  week,  and  can  only 
regret  that  I  may  thereby  lose  the  great  pleasure  of 
seeing  you  here.  Would  you  have  the  goodness  to 
mention  to  Lord  Coleridge  that  I  am  obliged  to  be  absent 
from  the  meeting  of  the  Arnold  Memorial  Committee 
appointed  for  to-morrow — Commemoration  Day.' 

When  I  next  met  him  he  said,  in  happy  hyperbole, 
*  Well !  You  did  as  much  in  Florence  in  a  week  as  my 
wife  and  I  tried  to  do  in  a  year.'  I  replied,  *  It  was  all 
too  crowded,  but  thanks  to  you  for  enabling  me  to  do  it. 
Your  poems,  and  the  other  books  I  mentioned  gave  me 
the  key,  and  opened  up  the  innumerable  treasures  of  the 
place.' 

I  have  known  no  one  so  completely  indifferent  to  fame 
as  Browning  was,  while  he  knew  very  well  the  value  of 
the  work  he  did.  He  never  wrote  a  line  of  poetry  with 
a  view  to  posthumous  renown,  or  thought  much  of 
anything  he  composed  after  it  was  written  down,  as 
Wordsworth  and  Tennyson   did.     The  imperious  call 


96  EETKOSPECTS 

of  a  commanding  genius  very  soon  compelled  him  to 
take  up  other  themes;  and  that  may  in  part  explain 
how  so  many  of  his  poems  have  their  obscurities,  and 
ragged  edges,  and  what  Americans  call  *  snags.'  He 
could  not,  or  would  not,  go  back  upon  them,  and  take 
time  to  polish  them,  even  although  he  could  have  done 
it  so  easily  with  the  diamond  dust  of  his  own  genius. 
He  at  once  forgot  them,  and  was  away  in  other  fields  of 
thought,  imagination,  and  fancy ;  but  I  think  it  was  his 
genuine  appreciation  of  the  work  of  others  that  made 
him  so  callous  to  contemporary  verdicts  on  himself. 

He  received  many  letters  from  admirers  and  friends 
asking  the  meaning  of  obscure  passages  in  his  poems  ; 
he  was  too  courteous  to  resent  inquiry,  but  he  seldom 
satisfied  the  querists.  He  would  sometimes  reply,  *  Well ! 
I  know  the  poem  had  a  meaning  to  me  when  I  wrote  it, 
but  what  it  was  I  cannot  now  say.  I  have  passed  from  it 
long  ago.'  Childe  Boland  to  the  dark  tower  came,  and 
Another  Way  of  Love,  were  two  poems  in  reference  to 
which  he  would  not  give  explanations. 

I  once  ventured,  after  a  talk  about  six  of  his  poems — 
Christina,  Evelyn  Hope,  The  Last  Bide  Together, 
Prospice,  La  Saisiaz,  and  Abt  Vogler — to  ask  him 
if  he  could  not  give  the  world  a  poem  bearing  still  more 
explicitly  on  the  survival  of  the  individual.  He  said 
(what  I  well  knew)  that  he  could  not  write  to  order.  No 
poet  ever  did  so ;  or,  if  he  did,  what  he  wrote  would  not 
deserve  to  live,  but  would  be  fore-doomed  to  extinction  ; 
but  that  possibly  the  mood  would  return  to  him  in  which 


EOBEKT  BEOWNING  97 

that  great  problem  would  find  new  utterance.  When, 
however,  he  asked  me  what  it  was  that  I  wished,  in 
addition  to  what  he  had  already  said  in  the  six  poems  we 
had  been  talking  about,  I  found  it  difficult  to  tell  him 
I  only  said  that  while  he  and  Tennyson  had  helped  us 
in  many  ways  as  to  the  ultimata  of  theistic  belief,  neither 
in  In  Memoriam  nor  in  any  of  his  own  poems  had  we 
an  articulate  poetic  statement  of  the  grounds  on  which 
the  belief  in  Immortality  rests.  I  indicated  my  own 
difficulty,  and  said  that  if  we  are  warranted  in  believing 
in  posthumous  existence,  might  we  not  also  be  warranted 
in  surmising  pre-existence  ;  especially  since,  if  we  are  to 
survive  this  life,  when  we  do  so  pre-existence  will  have 
been  a  fact.  He  agreed ;  and  said  he  would  like  to  take 
pre-existence  as  the  subject  of  a  poem ;  because,  if  it 
could  be  proved,  it  would  carry  the  evidence  of  immor- 
tality upbound  with  it.  But,  he  added,  in  language  very 
similar  to  that  of  Cardinal  Newman,  *  As  to  immortality 
I  don't  need  arguments  ;  I  know  it  by  intuition,  which  is 
superior  to  proof.'  He  went  on  to  say,  *  You  know  my 
wife's  lines  in  Aurora  Leigh,  on  the  evidence  of  in- 
tuition, and  "  the  Hereafter  "  ; '  and,  taking  up  a  volume 
of  her  poems  lying  on  his  desk,  he  read  [and  I  think  he 
read  his  wife's  poems  better  than  he  read  his  own]  : 

I  thought  so.     All  this  anguish  in  the  thick 
Of  men's  opinions  .  .  press  and  counterpress, 
Now  up,  now  down,  now  underfoot,  and  now 
Emergent  .  .  all  the  best  of  it,  perhaps, 
But  throws  you  back  upon  a  noble  trust 
And  use  of  your  own  instinct, — merely  proves 
Pure  reason  stronger  than  bare  inference 

I.  H 


98  KETROSPECTS 

At  strongest.    Try  it,— fix  against  heaven's  wall 
The  scaling-ladders  of  school  logic — mount, 
Step  by  step  ! — sight  goes  faster  ;  that  still  ray 
Which  strikes  out  from  you,  how  you  cannot  tell, 
And  why  you  know  not,  (did  you  eliminate, 
That  such  as  you  indeed  should  analyse  ? ) 
Goes  straight  and  fast  as  light,  and  high  as  God. 

The  cygnet  finds  the  water,  but  the  man 
Is  born  in  ignorance  of  his  element 
And  feels  out  blind  at  first,  disorganised 
By  sin  i'  the  blood, — his  spirit-insight  dulled. 
And  crossed  by  his  sensations.     Presently 
He  feels  it  quicken  in  the  dark  sometimes, 
"When,  mark,  be  reverent,  be  obedient. 
For  such  dumb  motions  of  imperfect  life 
Are  oracles  of  vital  Deity 
Attesting  the  Hereafter.     Let  who  says, 
'  The  soul's  a  clean  white  paper,'  rather  say 
A  palimpsest,  a  prophet's  holograph 
Defiled,  erased  and  covered  by  a  monk's, — 
The  Apocalypse  by  a  Longus  I  poring  on 
Which  obscene  text  we  may  discern  perhaps 
Some  fair,  fine  trace  of  what  was  written  once, 
Some  upstroke  of  an  alpha  and  omega 
Expressing  the  old  scripture. 

I  once  called  at  Warwick  Crescent  on  Browning's 
birthday,  but  had  forgotten  the  anniversary.  The  house 
was  a  garden  of  choicest  flowers,  a  very  'paradise  of 
dainty  devices.'  They  were  in  the  hall,  up  the  staircase, 
in  the  library,  in  the  drawing-room ;  and  *  most,'  he 
said,  *  from  unknown  friends,  nearly  all  from  unknown 
friends.  How  strange  it  is ! '  On  that  occasion  he 
asked  me,  *  Are  you  any  relation  of  a  Mr.  Knight,  who 
used  to  live  at  Wimbledon  forty  years  ago  ? '  I  said, 
*  No ;  I  have  relatives  in  and  near  London,  but  none  at 


EOBEKT  BROWNING  99 

Wimbledon.'  He  went  on,  however,  for  nearly  ten 
minutes  to  talk  of  this  old  friend  of  his,  who  must  have 
been  a  remarkable  man,  and  then  said,  '  How  strange  ! 
I  knew  him  four  decades  ago,  and  I  have  never  once 
recalled  all  these  things  I  have  been  telling  you  till 
to-day,  when  they  came  back  to  me  in  a  rush  of  memory 
when  speaking  to  you.' 

I  frequently  walked  with  Browning  from  his  house 
at  Warwick  Crescent  across  Kensington  Gardens  to  the 
residence  of  Mrs.  Procter — the  widow  of  his  old  friend 
Barry  Cornwall— at  the  Albert  Mansions.  He  used  to 
call  there  whenever  he  could  manage  it.  Mrs.  Procter 
told  me  that  he  missed  few  Sunday  afternoons.  She 
was  herself  a  remarkable  woman,  a  brilliant  talker 
who  never  monopolised  conversation.  She  rejoiced  to 
recall  the  days  when  she  knew  Charles  Lamb,  Words- 
worth, Landor,  and  the  rest ;  but  she  was  not  ambitious 
of  being  herself  much  *  in  evidence.'  She  was  the 
daughter  of  Wordsworth's  friend  and  boy-pupil,  Basil 
Montagu,  and  mother  of  the  well-known  Catholic  hymn- 
writer,  Adelaide  Anne  Procter.  It  was  specially  interest- 
ing to  hear  Browning  and  Mrs.  Procter  discuss  the  days 
and  the  fellowships  of  old,  and  to  hear  him  read  his  own 
poems  to  his  friend.  His  reading  was  not  so  musical  as 
Tennyson's,  but  it  was  clearer  and  crisper,  and  had 
occasionally  a  torrent  rush.  With  more  elan,  variety 
and  fulness  of  melody,  it  was  suggestive  of  a  richer  and 
more  many-sided  life.  Its  cadences  were  once  described 
to  me  as  like  the  pianoforte-playing  of  Liszt. 

H  2 


100  EETKOSPECTS 

As  it  may  be  known  to  few,  it  is  worth  mentioning 
that  the  following  was  written  by  Browning  on  the  MS. 
of  his  Paracelsus,  which  is  preserved  in  the  South 
Kensington  Museum :  *  To  John  Forster,  Esq.  (my  only 
understander),  with  true  thanks  for  his  generous  and 
seasonable  public  confession  of  faith  in  me. — K.  B.' 

Browning  could  be  the  most  reserved  of  men,  and  was 
BO  to  those  from  whom  he  felt  that  a  moral  barrier 
separated  him  ;  but  he  was  often  the  most  unreserved 
of  conversationalists.  I  sometimes  thought  that  he  lost 
all  sense  of  the  listener,  and  his  wonderful  speech  was 
merely  thinking  aloud. 

In  conclusion,  something  may  be  said  about  his 
funeral  in  Westminster  Abbey.  It  was  not  like  a  funeral 
at  all.  It  was  rather  like  the  enthronement  of  a  mighty 
potentate — or  king  in  the  realm  of  song — amongst  his 
peers  in  the  Poets'  Corner  of  the  historic  Abbey.  As  the 
pall-bearers  moved  slowly  from  the  entrance  door  of  the 
Deanery,  through  the  cloisters,  into  and  along  the  nave 
and  choir  to  the  southern  transept  where  he  lies,  in  all 
the  vast  assemblage  of  representative  men  and  women — 
statesmen  of  both  Houses,  lawyers,  men  of  letters  and 
of  science,  historians,  heads  of  colleges,  artists,  press- 
men, musicians,  dramatists,  literary  workers  of  every 
kind,  politicians  of  every  school,  and  clergy  of  all 
denominations — there  was  no  sign  of  grief.  It  was 
instinctively  felt  that  Browning's  work  was  done, 
and  had  been  right  nobly  done,  that  he  had  accom- 
plished his  allotted  task,  that  his  life  had  rounded 
itself  to  a  perfect  close.    Why,  therefore,  should  there 


EOBEET  BEOWNING  101 

be  any  sorrow  felt,  or  mourning  possible  ?  It  was  the 
triumphal  procession  of  a  monarch  to  his  throne ;  and 
a  longer  stay  in  this  terrene  sphere  would  have  been  a 
loss  to  posterity  rather  than  a  gain.  I  think  I  interpret 
the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  the  company  gathered  in  the 
Abbey  on  that  occasion — one  in  some  respects  more  inter- 
esting than  were  the  funerals  of  Tennyson  and  of  Glad- 
stone— when  I  say  that  its  predominant  note  was  one  of 
gladness  and  victory,  of  great  work  grandly  done,  of 
achievement  nobly  realised,  of  happy  rest  from  labour, 
while  his  work  followed,  as  it  still  does,  and,  me  judice, 
will  continue  to  do  in  scecula  sceculorum. 


102  EETEOSPECTS 


JAMES  MABTINEAU 

In  this  retrospect  I  do  not  try  to  estimate  Martineau's 
philosophical  and  religious  position,  or  to  trace  the 
numerous  and  varied  relations  which  he  sustained  to  his 
contemporaries.  His  life  has  been  recently  written  with 
great  care  and  notable  success,  by  those  selected  by  his 
family  and  executors  to  discharge  the  honourable  duty. 
A  few  supplementary  *  reminiscences '  and  memorabilia 
may,  however,  be  given. 

I  had  the  privilege  of  his  friendship  for  forty-three 
years,  and  the  letters  I  received  from  him  amounted 
to  109.  Copies  of  100  of  these  I  sent  to  his  biographers  ; 
the  other  nine  I  issued  a  few  years  ago,  along  with  some 
of  my  own  to  which  they  were  replies,  in  a  volume 
entitled  Inter  Amicos.  They  were  essay-letters  on 
the  questions  which  lie  on  the  threshold  or  border- 
land between  the  Trinitarian  and  Unitarian  faith. 
Martineau  was  as  generous  of  himself  in  correspondence 
as  Ruskin  was.  While  often  reserved  in  speech,  when 
he  took  his  pen  in  hand  this  reserve  was  abandoned, 
and  he  poured  out  his  thoughts  and  feelings  freely. 

My  introduction  to  him  was  due  to  the  admiration 
I  felt  when  a  young  man  for  his  Endeavours  after  the 
Christian  Life,     I  knew  that  he  was  coming  for  an 


JAMES  MAETINEAU  108 

autumD  sojourn  to  country-quarters  in  the  West  of 
Scotland,  not  far  from  where  I  would  be  spending  a  few 
weeks  of  holiday.  I  met  him  on  his  arrival  at  Greenock 
along  with  his  family,  and  went  with  them  down 
the  Clyde,  in  a  six  hours'  sail  to  Ardrishaig.  During 
that  voyage  he  spoke  continuously  on  the  chief  problems 
of  philosophical  and  religious  interest,  and  from  the  first 
I  was  struck  by  the  rare  union  in  him  of  great 
intellectual  insight,  and  the  power  of  a  commanding 
character,  with  humility  and  the  non-assertion  of  him- 
self— a  unique  combination.  After  that  interview 
my  admiration  broadened  and  deepened,  and  corre- 
spondence began.  A  year  afterwards  I  visited  him  in 
London  ;  but  I  pass  over  these  days,  when  he  was  so 
genial  a  host,  and  took  me  as  a  fellow  guest  to  many  of 
his  friends'  houses  in  town.  I  owed  much  to  these  intro- 
ductions. 

Later  on  it  occurred  to  me  that — as  all  the  Churches 
were  so  much  his  debtors,  I  might  try  in  a  humble  way 
to  advance  the  fellowship  after  which  he  strove  by 
addressing  his  congregation  in  London,  and  promoting 
unity  while  not  concealing  difference.  I  did  so ;  but 
proceedings  were  at  once  taken  against  me  in  the  Church 
to  which  I  then  belonged.  The  controversy  was  a  long 
one.  Its  records  fill  hundreds  of  pages  of  newspaper 
reports,  but  the  prosecution  failed.  Then  followed  an 
article  in  the  Contemporary  Beview  on  *  The  Ethics  of 
Creed  Subscription,'  in  which  I  tried  to  show  that  no 
creed  could  be  without  a  flaw  ;  and  that  in  all  of  them 
the  subscriber  expresses  a  general  assent  to  miderlying 


104  EETKOSPECTS 

principles  rather  than  adherence  to  infallible  dicta^  or 
finally  established  propositions.  This  led  to  a  second 
ecclesiastical  arraignment,  with  the  same  result.  A 
third  one  followed  on  the  controversy  as  to  Prayer,  in 
which  I  tried  to  show  in  the  columns  of  the  same 
Keview — in  reply  to  Professor  Tyndall  and  others — 
that  prayer  had  a  valid  sphere  of  its  own  within  the 
soul  of  man,  but  that  it  was  invalid  in  the  sphere  of 
physical  nature ;  and  that,  if  it  presumed  to  request  an 
alteration  of  those  laws  which  were  the  outcome  of 
Divine  adjustment,  it  was  irreverent.  This  led  to  much 
controversy ;  and  the  Chancellor  of  our  University — the 
Duke  of  Argyll — replied  to  my  paper  in  the  next  number 
of  the  Eeview,  in  an  article  entitled  *  Prayer :  the  two 
Spheres ;  are  they  two  ? ',  and  I  to  him  in  the  one  follow- 
ing, 'Prayer :  the  two  Spheres ;  they  are  two.'  The  result 
of  the  controversy  was  my  voluntary  abandonment  of  the 
tie  which  had  bound  me  to  the  Church  of  my  fathers. 
I  mention  these  personalia  without  further  detail, 
merely  because  they  explain  allusions  in  Dr.  Martineau's 
letters,   both   in  Inter  Amicos  and  in  the  following 


He  then  urged  me  to  come  up  to  London  and 
succeed  him  at  Little  Portland  Street,  where  I  would 
be  absolutely  unfettered  as  a  teacher.  I  explained  to 
him  that  it  was  an  impossibility,  and  he  saw  it,  and 
acquiesced.  Soon  afterwards  he  resigned  his  ministerial 
position,  confining  himself  to  professorial  duties,  and 
afterwards  to  those  of  the  principal  ship  of  Manchester 
New  College.    At  this  stage  I  may  mention  one  fact, 


JAMES  MAKTINEAU  105 

which  shows  the  width  of  his  nature  and  the  cathoHcity 
of  his  heart.  He  said  to  me,  *I  go  each  Sunday 
morning  to  the  dear  old  chapel  in  Little  Portland  Street, 
where  I  worshipped  and  taught  so  long,  but  it  is  not 
enough  for  me ;  and  I  find  that  I  must  go  down  in  the 
afternoons  to  Westminster,  where  I  hear  the  Anglican 
Service,  and  can  sometimes  hear  the  Dean.'  I  think  it 
was  Stanley's  personality,  to  a  certain  extent,  that  drew 
him  to  the  Abbey. 

After  this  I  saw  Martineau  chiefly  at  his  summer 
retreats  in  Yorkshire  and  in  Scotland,  most  of  all  at  the 
Polchar  in  the  Rothiemurchus  district  of  Inverness- 
shire.  Space  and  time  would  fail  to  tell  of  many 
delightful  days  and  evenings  there,  ascending  moun- 
tains, roaming  in  the  forest-ways,  and  listening  to  his 
varied  talk.  A  single  experience  only  I  may  mention. 
It  was  planned  one  year  that  during  my  visit  we  should 
ascend  Ben-muich-dhu ;  and,  as  Mr.  Seeley  (the 
historian)  and  Mr.  Oscar  Browning  were  staying  near  at 
hand,  that  they  should  join  our  party.  We  drove  so  far 
through  the  pine  forest  of  Rothiemurchus,  and  there- 
after had  an  ascending  walk  of  ten  miles  to  the  summit 
of  the  mountain,  and  a  similar  descent  of  ten  miles  to 
the  forest.  Martineau  was  approaching  eighty  years  of 
age ;  but,  as  a  young-old-man,  was  now  in  a  mood  of 
inspired  soliloquy,  now  discussing  Hegel  and  Darwin, 
again  rapt  in  silent  sympathy  with  Nature,  feeling  the 
*  strength  of  the  hills  '  around,  and  the  glory  of  the  sky 
above  him.  He  was  the  fleetest  of  foot  amongst  us,  and 
was  first  at  the  summit  of  the  mighty  ben.    Others  of 


106  KETKOSPECTS 

the  party,  though  junior,  took  more  frequent  rests,  and 
examined  their  aneroids,  while  he  was  treading  the 
heather  and  facing  the  breeze.  The  views  of  Braeriach 
and  Cairntoul  near  at  hand,  of  Ben-y-Gloe  to  the  south, 
of  Ben  Aulder  and  the  Ben  Nevis  range  to  the  west,  were 
magnificent  that  day,  and  he  could  name  the  majority 
of  peaks  and  tell  their  heights.  He  used  to  delight  to 
take  his  friends  shorter  walks  in  that  Eothiemurchus 
district,  to  the  top  of  Ord  Ban  (the  white  hill)  which  I 
ascended  with  him  when  he  was  eighty-five  years  of  age, 
round  by  Loch-an-eilan  (the  island  loch),  a  favourite 
stroll,  and  one  of  the  very  few  places  in  Scotland  where 
the  osprey  is  still  to  be  seen.  At  the  Polchar  our  con- 
versation often  turned  to  his  own  early  life  and 
education.  I  now  wish  that  I  had  written  down  what 
he  told  me. 

When  he  was  my  guest  at  St.  Andrews  I  was  greatly 
struck  with  Martineau's  power  of  entering  for  the  time 
being,  with  rare  appreciativeness,  into  the  position  of 
others  from  whom  he  stood  widely  apart  in  theological 
thought,  while  he  held  to  his  own  position,  and 
defended  it  with  firmness,  although  with  unobtrusive 
courtesy.  He  was  much  interested  in  meeting  our  two 
Principals,  TuUoch  and  Shairp,  and  others  whom  he  had 
known  only  as  authors. 

We  frequently  talked  of  the  titles  of  his  books, 
especially  of  the  one  which  he  called  A  Study  of 
Beligioii,  its  Sources  and  Contents.  In  this  connection 
one  may  recall  the  singular  felicity  of  the  titles  of  many 
of  his  sermons,  in  the  Endeavours  after  the  Christian 


JAMES  MAKTINEAU  107 

Life,  such,  e.g,,  as  '  The  Strength  of  the  Lonely,'  '  The 
Besetting  God,'   *  Great  Hopes  for  Great  Souls,'  *  The 
Sphere  of  Silence,'  &c.     Some  think  that  his  best  work 
was  done  in  these  wonderful  addresses,  sermons  esoteric 
and  exoteric,  delivered  week  by  week  for  many  a  year, 
in  the  chapel  which   he  made  famous;    and,  in  now 
reading  these  Endeavours,  and  his  subsequent  Hours 
of  Thought  one  can  understand  the  magnetism  which 
drew  so  many  from  far  suburban  places  to  hear  him,  to 
be  taught   by  him,  and  sent  on  their  way  to  fruitful 
work.     Perhaps  the  most  distinctive  note  of  his  preach- 
ing was  this.     There  was  nothing  set  before  his  hearers 
which  they  must  receive ;  only  a  few  *  guide-posts '  in 
Keligion  and   Ethics  were  set  up,  and  an  indication 
given  of  the  way  in  which  the  noblest  spirits  walk.    He 
was  great  as   a  preacher    because  he  was  neither  a 
doctrinaire    expositor,  nor    a    critical    essayist.      The 
listeners  felt  that  the  speaker  lived   in  a  region  of 
intellectual  and  religious  calm,  far  above  the  mists  and 
miscellaneousness  of  our  modern  life,  the  vicissitudes 
and  ambitions  of  the  hour  ;  and  that,  with  his  life  rooted 
in  the  unseen,  he  was   devoted  continuously  and  un- 
falteringly to  the  noblest  ends.     The  only   thing  that 
some  felt  per  contra  was  the  baffling  effect  produced  at 
times  by  his   exquisite  metaphors,  which   turned   the 
hearer  aside  for  a  time  from  the  clear-cut  path  of  his 
severer  thought.     His  sermons  were  not  so  much  ad- 
dresses   delivered    to    a    group   of    listeners    as    oral 
communings  with  the  unseen.     He  seldom  seemed  to 
realise  that  he  had  an  audience  before  him ;  and  while 


108  EETKOSPECTS 

'  he  brought  out  of  his  treasury  things  new  and  old,'  he 
certainly  spoke  *  as  one  having  authority,  and  not  as  the 
scribes.'  If  he  *  wore  his  weight  of  learning  lightly  like 
a  flower '  (which  he  did),  and  lived  out  his  deepest 
thoughts  rather  than  write  them  down,  it  was  the  last 
thing  anyone  could  think  of  him  that  he  was  a  *  scribe.' 
His  discourses  were  crowded  with  thoughts  which  tran- 
scended the  commonplaces  both  of  theology  and  religion, 
while  he  was  in  closest  touch  with  their  essentials.  He 
dealt  with  the  problems  of  all  time ;  but,  in  setting  them 
forth,  he  was  never  carried  away  by  the  torrent  of  his 
own  utterance.     There  was  no  tumult  in  his  eloquence. 

The  following  extract  *  from  one  of  the  discourses  in 
his  Endeavours,  entitled  *  The  Besetting  God,'  is  a 
sample  of  the  whole  of  them  : 

*As  if  in  acknowledgment  of  the  mystery  of  God, 
as  if  with  an  instinctive  feeling  that  his  being  is  the 
meeting-place  of  light  and  shade,  and  that  in  approach- 
ing Him  we  must  stand  on  the  confines  between  the 
seen  and  the  unseen,  all  nations  and  all  faiths  have 
chosen  the  twilight  hour,  morning  and  evening,  for 
their  devotion ;  and  so  it  has  happened  that  all  round 
the  earth,  on  the  bordering  circle  between  the  darkness 
and  the  day,  a  zone  of  worshippers  has  been  ever  spread, 
looking  for  the  Almighty  Tenant  of  space,  one  half 
toward  the  East  brilliant  with  the  dawn,  the  other  into 
the  hemisphere  of  night  descending  in  the  West.  The 
veil  of  shadow  as  it  shifts  has  glanced  upon  adoring 
souls,  and  at  its  touch  cast  down  a  fresh  multitude  to 
•  Endeavours  after  the  Christian  Life,  vol.  i.  p.  24. 


JAMES  MAKTINEAU  109 

kneel,  and  as  they  have  gazed  into  opposite  regions  for 
their  God  they  have  virtually  owned  his  presence 
**  besetting  them  behind  and  before."  ' 

What  he  quoted  from  John  Smith,  the  Cambridge 
Platonist,  so  far  back  as  1836,  remained  with  him  a 
guiding  principle  to  the  end.  It  was  this :  *  To  seek 
our  Divinity  merely  in  Books  and  Writings  is  to  seek 
the  living  amongst  the  dead.  No :  intra  te  qucere 
Deum.  Seek  for  God  within  thy  own  soul.'  More  than 
once  he  quoted  to  me  Kepler's  great  saying,  *  My  highest 
wish  is  to  find  within  the  God  whom  I  find  everywhere 
without ' ;  although  I  told  him  I  preferred  the  Neo- 
Platonic  way  of  putting  it,  *  I  have  been  all  along  trying 
to  bring  the  God  who  is  within  me  into  harmony  with 
the  God  who  is  without.'  He  had  the  mind  of  the  seer, 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  mystic,  and  the  heart  of  the  child ; 
and  it  was  their  wonderful  combination  that  endeared 
him  to  so  many.  It  came  out  in  unexpected  places,  and 
un-anticipated  ways.  I  remember  calling  at  Gordon 
Square  on  a  disengaged  forenoon,  when  Mr.  Emslie  was 
painting  his  portrait.  I  was  asked  to  sit  and  talk  in 
the  study  while  this  was  going  on,  as  the  artist  seemed 
to  think  that  conversation  made  his  face  more  animated, 
and  helped  rather  than  hindered  expression :  and  so  I 
sat  on  for  two  hours,  and  can  never  forget  the  outflowings 
of  philosophic  talk  on  ancient  sages  and  contemporary 
men,  the  subtle  play  of  imagination  and  geniality  of 
heart,  then  and  there  disclosed  with  unconscious  ease 
and  grace. 

Perhaps  the  master-passion  of  Martineau's  life  was  to 


110  EETKOSPECTS 

vindicate  a  pure  spiritual  theism  against  the  materialistic 
and  agnostic  tendencies  of  our  time ;  but  it  is  a  some- 
what remarkable  thing  that  he  was  an  old  man  before 
his  most  distinctive  works  on  Philosophy  saw  the  light 
of  day.  He  led  a  quiet  life  of  strenuous  endeavour  for 
many  years,  and  was  known  mainly  as  the  author  of  the 
Endeavours,  of  a  Hymn-book,  and  of  several  Essays 
and  Addresses,  As  already  mentioned,  the  superlative 
beauty  and  truth  of  the  first  of  these  fascinated  several 
orthodox  churchmen,  who  were  more  beholden  to  him 
than  to  many  within  their  own  communion  ;  the  great 
Anglican  preacher — Kobertson  of  Brighton — having 
assimilated  his  thoughts  intuitively,  and  reproduced 
many  of  them,  perhaps  in  clearer  fashion.  But  until 
he  ceased  to  preach,  and  even  retired  from  his  Chair,  he 
had  done  little  or  nothing  to  show  to  his  contemporaries 
the  range  of  his  philosophical  knowledge,  or  the  pene- 
tration of  his  speculative  insight.  He  then  expanded, 
and  put  into  book-form,  his  class-lectures  on  Ethics 
and  the  Philosophy  of  Keligion ;  his  Types  of  Ethical 
Theory  being  followed  by  two  other  books,  A  Study  of 
Beligion,  and  The  Seat  of  Authority,  In  this  late 
productiveness  as  a  philosophical  author  he  resembled 
Immanuel  Kant,  whose  three  great  Kritiken  were  not 
published  till  he  was  relatively  an  old  man.  They  had 
been  thought  out  and  developed  in  younger  days,  but 
were  not  sent  to  press  till  their  author's  face  was 
turned  *  towards  the  sunset.' 

Something  should   be  also  said  as   to   Martineau's 
power  as  a  public  speaker.    His  occasional  contributions 


JAMES  MAKTINEAU  111 

to  debate,  at  the  annual  congresses  of  the  religious 
Community  to  which  he  belonged,  were  remarkable,  and 
the  deference  with  which  his  addresses  were  received 
by  those  in  conference  assembled  was  very  striking.  I 
heard  several  of  them,  and  it  was  significant  that  while 
speaker  after  speaker  had  addressed  the  meeting  and 
produced  little  effect,  listlessness  and  absenteeism  per- 
haps prevailing,  when  Martineau  rose  the  members  came 
back — like  the  senators  in  the  House  of  Commons  filling 
the  chamber  when  a  great  statesman  speaks — and  there 
was  the  hushed  silence  of  universal  honour  and  respect, 
while  the  decision  ultimately  come  to  usually  justified 
the  view  he  took. 

As  to  the  value  of  his  philosophical  work,  the  ques- 
tion to  be  answered  is  not  *Did  he  solve  the  problems  he 
discussed  ?  '  but  *  How  far  did  he  stimulate  his  contem- 
poraries, by  sowing  the  seeds  of  fruitful  thought  and 
lofty  endeavour  ? '  Very  few  came  into  close  personal 
contact  with  him  without  finding  that  *  virtue  went  forth 
from  him ' ;  only  the  penetration  of  his  vision,  and  the 
logical  force  of  his  reasoning,  were  sometimes  obscured 
by  the  very  magic  of  his  style,  its  consummate  finish  and 
suggestiveness.  I  would  mention  another  thing,  which 
was  disclosed  in  his  countenance  and  whole  physiognomy, 
a  rare  combination  which  impressed  everyone  who 
came  within  the  circle  of  his  influence.  It  was  the  air 
of  personal  sadness  stamped  in  the  lines  and  furrows  of 
his  face.  He  showed  an  abounding  and  most  contagious 
joy,  when  his  countenance  was  relaxed  by  humour ;  but 
even  when  this  feature  dominated,  it  did  not  eclipse 


112  EETKOSPECTS 

what  I  can  only  call  a  certain  awe-strickenness  before  the 
mysteries  of  the  universe,  while  he  clung  to  a  philo- 
sophic faith  in  the  divine  order  of  the  world,  and  its 
universal  omnipresent  Soul. 

Associated  with  this,  and  very  notable,  was  his  firm 
belief  in  a  future  life,  to  succeed  the  present  one  of  disaster 
and  failure.  His  unfaltering  hope  was  the  continuation 
and  expansion  of  what  is  now  and  here  so  incomplete,  the 
coming  realisation  of  our  blasted  mundane  ideals.  He 
felt,  and  often  said  to  me,  that  any  dimness  of  sight  as  to 
the  future  was  due  not  to  our  difficulty  in  construing  it,  or 
to  the  want  of  evidence  for  it,  but  to  the  veils  which  so 
constantly  overhang  us,  and  hide  the  reality  from  our 
eyes.  Starting  from  the  moral  and  spiritual  notion  of 
man  as  now  evolved,  he  thought  that  our  latent  capacities 
of  attainment  warranted  belief  in  a  future  where  attain- 
ment would  be  real. 

He  also  used  often  to  say  that  the  belief  in  Immortality 
was  only  one  part  of  a  larger  whole,  viz.  the  spiritual 
interpretation  of  the  universe;  and  that  it  could  not 
only  not  be  proved,  but  could  not  be  made  intelligible, 
to  those  who  had  no  esoteric  vision  of  the  unseen. 

I  think  heredity  explains  much  in  Martineau's  life, 
and  work,  and  tendencies.  He  was  descended  on  one 
side  from  the  old  French  Huguenot  stock,  and  as  he 
combined  the  best  traditions  of  that  race  with  an  English 
Puritan  inheritance,  their  union  was  significant.  This 
perhaps  led  to  a  farther  practical  eclecticism,  an  unhesi- 
tating acceptance  of  the  best  results  of  German  and 
Dutch  criticism  with  a  reverent  clinging  to  those  things 


/^ 


JAMES   MAKTINEAU  113 

*  which  cannot  be  shaken,  but  remain.'  He  was  so  con- 
structive in  his  thought  and  teaching,  and  so  anxious  to 
get  through  the  sand  and  have  his  foot  upon  the  rock, 
that  a  reader  of  his  books  often  forgets  to  what  school 
of  thought  the  writer  belonged. 

I  may  not  retraverse  ground  which  his  biographers 
have  occupied  so  well.  Anything  here  is  by  way  of 
supplement,  as  in  the  case  of  what  is  said  of  Carlyle, 
Tennyson,  Browning,  and  Kuskin  ;  and  some  things,  on 
which  I  could  fain  enlarge  but  can  only  mention,  are 
not  much  dealt  with  in  the  Life  and  Letters,  e,g.  his 
growing  sympathy  in  later  years  with  the  Anglican 
National  Establishment  as  a  religious  safeguard  for  the 
nation,  and  with  the  denominational  school  system  ; 
his  appreciation  of  the  good  work  done  by  those  who 
laboured  in  spheres  into  which  he  could  never  enter. 
This  ripened  in  him,  after  the  practical  failure  of  a 
scheme  in  which  he  took  a  deep  interest,  viz.  the 
Federation  of  the  Churches.  The  multitudinous  divisions 
of  Christendom  harassed  him,  and  he  thought  there 
might  be  some  practicable  method  of  common  action ; 
a  modus  vivendi  et  agendi,  if  not  a  plan  of  federation. 
He  described  himself  as  *  all  his  life  a  most  unwilling 
nonconformist,'  and  wished  the  old  historic  Church  of 
England  so  widened  as  to  include  many  shut  out  by 
its  formularies,  if  only  they  would  come  in.  Eeceived 
within  the  national  Establishment  and  co-ordinated 
there,  he  thought  there  might  be  a  new  amalgamation  of 
all  the  scattered  fragments  of  church-life  in  the  country. 


114  EETKOSPECTS 

He  maintained,  and  reiterated  over  and  over  again,  that 
in  the  depths  of  the  religious  life  there  are  possibilities 
of  fellowship  which  our  ecclesiastical  organisations 
disown,  and  which  lie  beneath  the  creeds.  One  of  the 
most  remarkable  of  his  later  essays  was  one  which  he 
described  as  a  contribution  to  *  a  way  out  of  Trinitarian 
controversy.'  In  that  essay  he  admitted  a  metaphysical 
doctrine  of  the  Trinity,  while  ethically  he  was — during 
his  whole  career — closely  kindred  to  its  disciples.  He 
taught  that  *  in  what  constitutes  the  pith  and  kernel  of 
both  faiths '  {i.e,  the  Trinitarian  and  the  Unitarian)  *  the 
two  are  agreed.'  Evidence  of  this  will  be  found  in  his 
letters  published  in  Inter  Amicos,  and  not  only  in  many 
of  his  discourses,  but  in  the  hymnals  which  he  edited, 
and  the  prayer-books  which  he  wrote  and  published. 

It  is  a  pleasant  retrospect  to  recall  many  relatively 
minor  traits  in  his  character,  his  scrupulous  accuracy 
in  all  details,  and  the  very  finished  way  in  which  he 
wrote  the  shortest  and  smallest  of  notes,  answering  an 
invitation  to  dinner  or  to  a  walk  with  the  same  fastidious 
carefulness  in  handwriting  as  that  in  which  he  composed 
his  most  elaborate  books  for  the  press.  His  library  was 
always  in  perfect  order  ;  and  even  the  way  in  which  at 
the  Polchar  he  cut  up  the  pages  of  the  Times,  and 
refolded  them  before  he  began  to  read,  was  a  lesson  in 
orderliness. 

In  what  follows  I  shall  give  a  series  of  extracts  from 
a  few  of  his  many  letters  to  me.    I  omit  what  were 


JAMES   MAETINEAU  115 

perhaps  the  most  interesting  of  them  all — viz.  those  he 
wrote  on  receipt  of  the  address  presented  to  him  on  his 
eighty-first  birthday — because  it  was  published  with  the 
signatures  appended  to  it  in  Inter  Amicos^  and  also  found 
a  place  in  the  Life  and  Letters,  edited  by  Messrs. 
Drummond  and  Upton. 

*  Dalguise  House,  near  Dunkeld :  July  11, 1871. 

***** 

*  I  am  greatly  obliged  by  the  opportunity  of  read- 
ing your  very  interesting  and  searching  article  in  the 
British  Quarterly.  With  its  constructive  part  I  find 
myself  in  entire  accordance  ;  unless  it  be  that  I  should 
hesitate,  as  a  matter  of  form,  to  treat  the  apprehension 
of  God  as  an  immediate  intuition.  Eather  does  it  seem 
to  me  the  necessary  interpretation  of  two  or  three  con- 
fluent intuitions, — of  Causality,  of  Obligation,  and  of 
Beauty — of  which  it  finds  the  unity  and  repose.  This  is 
rather  a  difference  of  statement,  than  of  thought ;  and 
I  do  not  know  that  there  is  anything  to  choose  between 
the  two  modes  of  putting  the  case.  But  I  fancy  that  the 
recognition  of  a  plurality  of  sources  enables  one  to  give 
a  better  account  of  the  broken  lights  of  faith  which  gleam 
upon  us  in  imperfect  religions,  short  of  the  vision  of  the 
Living  God.  In  the  critical  part  of  your  paper  you 
are  a  little  more  thorough -going  than  I  am  inclined 
to  be,  in  your  repudiation  of  the  old  Natural  Theology  ; 
but  most  of  the  qualifications  which  I  should  insert  in 
the  critique  come  in   afterwards  in    the  constructive 

exposition.* 

♦  *  #  *  # 

I  2 


116  KETROSPECTS 

'  Bryn  Yr  Afon,  Bont  Ddu,  Dolgelly :  August  21,  1872. 

*  Your  Celtic  scholarship  will  enable  you  to  interpret, 
pronounce,  and  remember  the  queer  address  which  I 
have  given  above,  and  at  which  I  shall  be  found  for 
more  than  a  month  to  come.  It  represents  a  charming 
cottage  usually  occupied  by  my  friends  Miss  Lloyd  and 
Miss  Cobbe,  but  vacated  by  them  on  our  behalf  for  a 
few  weeks  this  summer.  The  house  stands  just  half- 
way between  Barmouth  and  Dolgelly,  right  in  front  of 
Cader  Idris,  from  which  it  is  separated  by  the  fine 
estuary  that  here  inserts  itself  among  the  mountains 
just  like  the  western  seas  of  Scotland. 

*  4^  *  *  # 

*  I  return  with  thanks  the  Glasgow  correspondence. 
It  grieves  rather  than  surprises  me.  The  exposure  by 
"  Quisquis  "  appears  to  me  amply  merited  ;  and  the 
subsequent  letter  by  .  .  .  justifies  the  severest  of  the 
previous  criticisms,  by  advancing  a  new  plea  quite  at 
variance  with  his  previous  statement.  A  more  humili- 
ating self-exposure  I  do  not  remember.  But  it  is  well 
for  the  world  that  a  man  who  has  not  conscience  to  be 

true  should  fail  also  to  have  the  sense  to  be  consistent.' 

*  *  #  *  # 

'  Bryn  Yr  Afon,  Bont  Ddu,  Dolgelly :  September  23,  1872. 

*  The  breaking  up  of  my  few  weeks'  encampment 
here  must  not  take  place  without  my  reporting  the 
movement ;  though  the  moment  for  plucking  up  the 
tent-pegs,  and  strewing  the  ground  with  baggage  for  the 
start,  is  not  favourable  for  more  than  a  hasty  message. 


JAMES   MARTINEAU  117 

*  On  Monday,  the  30th  inst.,  we  rush  home  and  into 
harness  at  once ;  the  College  opening  at  9  a.m.  on  Tuesday, 
October  1.  I  am  thankful  to  say  we  are  all  fairly  ready 
for  our  season  of  work,  and  the  unremitting  circulation 
of  interests  and  duties  which  makes  one  comparatively 
indifferent  to  the  "  skyey  influences  "  ;  and  certainly  the 
clouds  and  storms  of  the  last  three  weeks  have  done 
their  best  to  discipline  us  into  resignation  at  parting 
with  a  country  of  soaked  soil,  and  dripping  trees,  and 
shrouded  mountains.  Nevertheless,  we  have  found 
happy  intervals  for  invading  the  tops,  and  exploring  the 

most  picturesque  valleys. 

***** 

*  In  the  presence  of  a  saintly  Calvinist,  my  shrinking 
from  his  theology  fills  me  with  misgivings  of  my  own 
heart.  But  a  .  .  .  sets  me  firm  on  my  feet  again  ;  and 
if  I  have  ever  said  a  strong  thing  against  his  system, 
I  only  wish  it  had  been  stronger.  .  .  .  Your  statement 
seemed  to  me  to  be  admirable  in  its  terseness  and  its 
selection  of  essential  points,  as  well  as  in  its  spirit ;  and 
indeed  to  have  no  fault  but  its  extreme  and  severe 

brevity.' 

***** 

♦  10  Gordon  Street,  London,  W.C. :  October  17,  1872. 

*  For  the  better  economy  of  such  activities  as  may 
still  be  entrusted  to  me,  it  is  necessary  for  me  to 
reduce  my  work ;  and,  as  the  chief  risk  lies  in  strong 
excitement,  I  have  resigned  my  pulpit,  and  limited  my- 
self for  the  future  to  my  College  work.  It  is  no  light 
thing  thus  suddenly  to  take  leave  of  what  has  been  to 


118  KETEOSPECTS 

me  the  chief  function  of  life :  but  my  main  anxiety  is 
the  congregation  which  I  am  constrained  to  desert. 
Composed  of  elements  without  any  strong  principle  of 
cohesion,  and  ranging  through  the  theological  scale  from 
the  borders  of  Positivism  to  conservative  Christian 
Supernaturalism,  it  is  exposed  to  peculiar  risks  of  dis- 
persion ;  and  I  feel  no  satisfaction  in  the  prospect  of 
a  considerable  detachment  moving  off  to  the  influence 
of  *  *  's  negations  and  *  *  's  cosmopolitan  Pan- 
theism. As  I  muse  upon  the  matter,  I  come  round 
again  and  again  to  the  one  only  thing  which,  as  I 
believe,  would  hold  and  save  these  people,  and  prevent 
the  virtual  sacrifice  of  their  spiritual  life :  viz.  your 
removal  to  London  to  take  charge  of  them.  It  is  a 
daring,  and  I  fear  an  impracticable,  thought.  I  see  all 
the  difficulty  of  such  a  move  after  so  recent  a  declara- 
tion of  Trinitarian  opinion —though  not  as  identified 
with  Christianity,  but  only  as  an  afterthought  of  philo- 
sophical speculation.  I  hear  beforehand  the  outcry  of 
your  opponents,  that  their  suspicions  are  justified.  I 
anticipate  scruples  on  the  part  of  my  own  people. 

*  Nevertheless,  beneath  all  this,  the  natural  affinities 
and  realities  are  on  the  side  of  such  a  solution.  And  if 
my  people  had  the  magnanimity  to  rely  on  these  and 
offer  you  a  free  pulpit,  trusting  that  adequate  theological 
sympathy  would  work  itself  out;  and  if  you,  on  the 
strength  of  this  unpledged  attitude,  felt  encouragement 
to  brave  reproach,  and  take  a  position  involving  no 
retractation  and  only  the  engagement  to  go  whither  the 
truth  of  God  might  lead ;  it  is  my  sincere  persuasion 


JAMES  MAKTINEAU  119 

that  a  work  would  open  before  you  here  more  congenial 
and  of  higher  character  than  any  which  the  Free  Kirk 
can  have  in  reserve  for  you.  You  are  appointed,  I  must 
think,  to  draw  upwards  those  who  would  otherwise  have 
less  faith  than  you :  and  your  faculties  will  never  move 
with  their  power  unhindered  till  you  have  to  deal  with 
such  an  audience.  The  minor  work,  of  cutting  down 
the  existing  creeds  to  the  limits  of  credibility,  and  re- 
conciling people  to  a  tenable  level  of  religion,  may  be 
left  to  minds  of  a  different  cast — and  indeed  will  go  on 
of  itself  in  these  days.  I  cannot  help  confessing  to  you 
these  private  speculations  of  my  own :  for  I  know  they 
ought  to  be  realised  ;  though  I  can  hardly  hope  that 
they  will.     The  impossibilities  seem  to  lie  thick  upon 

the  surface :  the  rightness  of  the  thing  is  deep  below. 

*  #  *  *  * 

*  I  am  sorry  to  find  *  *  harping  upon  the  old  string 
of  "  consistency."  Consistency  is  the  most  trumpery 
of  virtues;  a  tight  dress  in  which  you  cannot  move 
till  you  make  it  elastic,  or  get  contact  with  fresh  air  till 
you  tear  it  to  rags.  But  it  is  the  sort  of  thing  which  our 
Unitarians  inflate,  and  hang  up  for  worship  as  an  idol.* 

*  *  *  *  * 

♦  10  Gordon  Street,  London,  W.C. :  March  9,  1873. 

*  After  months  of  silence  on  my  part,  when  you  have 
been  daily  in  my  thoughts,  your  welcome  letter  has  at 
last  brought  me  to  the  writing  point.  To  a  slow  cor- 
respondent small  things  serve  as  an  excuse  for  procras- 
tination :  much  more,  such  great  affairs  as  have  recently 
found  place  in  your  life — and  partly  in  my  own — and 


120  EETEOSPECTS 

have  made  it  impossible  to  overtake  the  crowd  of 
arrears.  Of  your  frightful  accident  in  Glasgow  I  heard 
only  when  the  alarm  which  it  awakened  was  over :  and 
I  restrained  my  anxiety  to  learn  the  particulars,  lest 
I  should  make  you  write  when  you  ought  to  be  quiet. 
Your  paper  in  the  Contemporary  I  should  have  liked  to 
discuss  with  you :  but  when  I  found  that  you  were  to 
be  hustled  for  it  by  a  clerical  mob,  and  pulled  about  by 
the  hand  of  a  Duke,  I  was  sure  you  would  have  enough 
to  do,  without  being  troubled  with  my  balance-sheet  of 
scruples  and  of  assents.  The  question  of  immediate 
moment  is  not  the  speculative  one,  whether  the  posi- 
tions you  maintain  are  philosophically  unimpeachable  ; 
but  whether  the  paper  is  a  genuine,  truth-loving,  and 
reverential  contribution  to  the  solution  of  a  momentous 
problem :  and  it  is  unworthy  of  the  Duke  of  Argyll  to 
put  forth  a  polemic  article  against  it,  without  one  word 
of  protest  disclaiming  all  sympathy  with  the  proceed- 
ings of  the  Presbytery.  Should  I  have  the  opportunity 
of  any  conversation  with  him  at  the  "  Metaphysical  "  on 
Tuesday,  I  shall  not  shrink  from  intimating  my  regret  on 
this  head,  at  the  risk  of  incurring  a  rebuff.  And  I  can- 
not but  hope  that,  at  the  meeting  of  Presbytery,  you  will 
think  it  right  to  be  a  little  less  reticent  and  forbearing 
than  hitherto.  It  seems  to  me  quite  possible,  without 
transgressing  the  limits  of  personal  calmness  and  large 
charity  which  you  have  so  admirably  kept,  to  denounce 
as  monstrous  the  reference  of  the  deepest  questions  of 
human  thought  to  the  authority  of  petty  tribunals 
destitute  of  special  competency  to  decide  them.     The 


JAMES  MAKTINEAU  121 

pretension  implied  in  such  a  practice,  whether  sanc- 
tioned by  Church  law  or  not,  is  so  intolerable  that  no 
man  of  high  conscience  and  active  intellect  can  submit 
to  it :  to  do  so  would  be  to  renounce  the  essential  con- 
ditions of  any  noble  or  even  faithful  spiritual  life. 

*If  this  be  so,  why  not  dispute,  m  limine,  the 
jurisdiction  of  the  Presbytery,  and  refuse  to  go  into 
defence  of  the  theory  of  the  paper — as  if  an  error  there 
would  render  you  properly  liable  to  judgment  ?  There 
cannot  be  a  right  to  discuss  without  a  right  to  go 
wrong  ;  and  to  visit  error  with  penal  consequences  is  to 
proclaim  the  reign  of  obscurantism  again.  ...  I  shall 
be  surprised  if  this  week  you  do  not  discover  that  the 
Free  Kirk  has  no  hole,  round  or  square,  which  you  can 
occupy  without  splitting  the  whole  framework,  or  else 
suffering  torture  yourself. 

*  I  have  been  storing  up  a  few  Hymn-booh  questions, 
to  be  referred  to  you :  and  if  you  can  help  by  answering 
them,  I  shall  be  greatly  obliged.  (1)  Whence  did  you 
obtain  the  seventy-ninth  of  your  hymns,  and  where  is 
the  MS.  of  the  fifteenth  century  to  be  found  ?  (2)  What 
sort  of  person  is  Dr.  Bonar  of  Kelso  ?  If  I  write  for 
permission  to  use  some  of  his  hymns  in  my  new  volume, 
is  he  likely  to  raise  difficulties  ?  and  could  I  approach 
him  circuitously  better  than  by  direct  application? 
(3)  Can  you  advise  me  in  like  manner,  with  regard  to 
the  following  hymn- writers  in  Scotland  ? — Mrs.  Jane 
Cross  Simpson,  Edinburgh ;  Kev.  Dr.  Alexander  S. 
Patterson,  Glasgow ;  Miss  Jane  Borthwick  (known  as 
H.   L.   L.)  ;    Eev.    Dr.    William    Lindsay  Alexander, 


122  EETKOSPECTS 

Edinburgh  (Independent)  ;  of  none  of  these  have  I  the 
addresses.  Hitherto,  everyone  has  been  most  obliging : 
and  I  have  had  no  refusal,  even  when  from  Anglican 
clergymen  I  have  asked  permission  to  change  the 
address  of  a  hymn  from  Christ  to  the  Father,  But 
somehow  I  am  more  afraid  of  the  Scottish  spirit,  and 
should  like  to  present  my  petition  in  the  best  way.  I 
have  been  applying  myself  diligently  to  my  compilation, 
and  the  text  is  now  all  but  ready.' 


♦  10  Gordon  Street,  London,  W.C. :  January  31,  1874. 

*  I  do  not  in  general  admire  the  theological  "  free 
lances,"  who,  like  George  Dawson  and  Cranbrook,  will 
join  no  army  of  assault  on  the  powers  of  darkness,  but 
roam  the  field  in  a  desultory  skirmish  of  self-will.  The 
isolation  is  hurtful  to  most  natures,  and  tends  to  produce 
a  moral  narrowness  and  eccentricity  in  the  followers  if  not 
in  the  leader.  I  know  you  think  me  hard  on  these  broad 
churchmen.  Intellectually,  I  am  at  one  with  them  ; 
personally,  they  win  me ;  but  morally,  they  perplex  me. 
The  riddle  was  not  solved  for  me  by  two  or  three  delight- 
ful days  which,  with  my  daughters  Gertrude  and  Edith, 
I  spent  with  the  Master  of  Balliol  a  few  weeks  ago ;  ex- 
cept indeed  that  I  find  the  key  to  his  interpretation  of  all 
religious  doctrine  in  a  certain  Hegelian  way  of  resolving 
all  "  abstractions,"  so  as  to  take  them  out  of  their  mutual 
contradictions.  The  misfortune  is  that  the  truth  which 
is  thus  saved  out  of  old  formulas  is  not  the  old  truth, 
but  something  compatible  with  what  the  old  truth  denied ; 


JAMES  MAETINEAU  128 

and  the  old  formula  is  a  mere  husk  turned  inside  out, 
the  continued  and  solemn  preservation  of  which  appears 
to  me  a  mockery.  However,  be  the  secret  logic  of 
Jowett's  mind  what  it  may,  he  is  one  of  the  wisest  and 
most  attractive  of  men,  an4  his  influence  on  the  young 
men  of  Balliol  is  in  all  respects  noble  and  elevating. 
He  is  introducing  the  practice  of  personally  preaching 
in  chapel  once  a  month  ;  rather  to  the  annoyance,  I  be- 
lieve, of  other  Heads  of  Houses  who  do  not  trouble 
themselves  with  any  such  superfluous  duty.  It  seems 
amazing  that  so  natural  a  means  of  high  influence 
should  have  fallen  into  utter  neglect.  This  visit  to 
Oxford  made  me  more  aware  than  ever  before  of  my 
privations  as  a  Nonconformist.' 

♦  10  Gordon  Street,  London,  W.C:  February  2,  1874. 
♦  *  *  *  * 

'  Mr.  Goldwin  Smith,  who  spent  a  few  hours  with 
me  the  other  day,  is  much  struck,  on  returning  to 
this  country,  with  the  enormous  spread  of  absolute  and 
aggressive  atheism  among  the  educated  English,  as 
well  as  the  general  disintegration  of  religious  belief 
throughout  a  still  wider  stratum  of  society  less  dogma- 
tically disposed  ;  and  he  insists  strongly  on  the  impor- 
tance of  presenting  the  "  grounds  of  Natural  Religion  " 
in  a  persuasive  and  reasonable  way  to  the  minds  of 
thoughtful  and  serious  people.  The  place  into  which 
the  Bible  was  forced — and  whence  it  has  fallen — being 
vacated,  historical  religion  cannot  be  appealed  to  again, 
till  under  it  is  planted  the  support  of  a  true  spiritual 


124  EETKOSPECTS 

philosophy  and  a  tenable  interpretation  of  Nature. 
I  wish  he  would  carry  out  the  idea  himself.  No  one 
could  give  it  better  form.' 


*Balnespick  House,  Kincraig,  by  Kingussie :  July  21, 1876. 

***** 

*The  question  whether  Infinity  and  Personality 
exclude  each  other  requires  that,  for  comparison,  the 
contents  of  the  two  conceptions  be  laid  bare.  Till  that  is 
done,  the  alleged  difficulty  of  uniting  them  cannot  even  be 
stated  with  effect,  much  less  removed.  Yet  both  these 
tasks  are  entered  on,*  though  the  idea  of  Personality  is 
first  submitted  to  analysis.  Of  the  idea  of  the  Infinite, 
it  is  true,  you  give  two  theories  on  p.  5.  But  these  are 
theories  of  its  psychological  origin,  by  addition  of 
quantities,  and  by  subtraction  of  limits  ;  and  I  do  not 
perceive  the  relevance  of  these  when  we  want  to  know, 
not  how  we  come  by  the  idea,  but  what  it  is  when  we 
have  it.  As  neither  theory  approves  itself  to  me  as 
satisfactory,  a  superfluous  reference  to  them  has  the 
effect  of  embarrassing  your  thesis  with  a  questionable 
doctrine,  which,  even  if  true,  contributes  no  strength  to 
your  position. 

*  The  result  of  trying  to  put  in  the  strongest  form  the 
difficulty  which  you  attack,  before  terms  for  comparison 
have  been  cleared,  seems  to  show  itself  in  the  next 
paragraph  :   where  a   concession  appears  to  me  to  be 

*  This  refers  to  an  article  contributed  to  The  Contemporary  Review 
in  October  1875,  and  republished  in  Sttcdies  in  Philosophy  and  Litera- 
ture, 1879. 


JAMES  MAKTINEAU  125 

made  from  which  the  argument  can  never  recover  ;  viz. 
that  Personality  is  "a  phase"  in  the  Divine  nature 
which  is  deemed  "  highest "  only  in  virtue  of  our  "  poverty 
of  insight,"  and  which  is  or  may  be  "  transcended  "  by 
the  "impersonal."  I  own  that  to  me  Theism  has 
no  meaning,  if  it  be  not  that  in  God  the  personal  is 
transcendent,  and  that  what  seems  impersonal  (the 
realm  of  Nature)  is  not  only  subordinate,  but  illusory  in 
its  apparent  distinctness  from  the  personal.  If  you 
consider  this  "highest"  ranking  of  the  personal  as  a 
"  figure  "  of  speech,  and  "  poverty  of  insight,"  what 
better  title  can  you  find  for  inverting  the  order  and 
affirming  the  personal  is  "  transcended,"  i.e,  is  not  "the 
highest "  ?  Other  than  personality  there  may  be  in  the 
universe:  and  it  is  not  perhaps  possible,  in  the  last 
resort,  to  dispense  with  the  conception  of  some  second 
datum.  But  the  subjugation  of  this  to  Living  Mind  is 
surely  the  condition  of  every  religious  interpretation  of 
the  world. 

*  If  I  mistake  not,  you  wrote  this  passage  tacitly 
assuming  that  ^^  finite  form  "  is  involved  in  personality. 
Withdraw  this  concession,  and  nothing  remains  to  show 
that  "  the  vast,"  "  the  infinite,"  cannot  readily  be 
conceived  as  personal.  Had  the  exact  contents  of  the 
conception  of  Personality  been  first  laid  out,  I  hardly 
think  you  would  have  granted  so  much  to  your 
opponent.  And  so,  when  you  disclaim  resort  to  the 
entire  constitution  of  our  own  nature  as  interpreter  of 
the  Divine,  is  not  the  disclaimer  superfluous  ?  Does 
anyone  ever  dream  of  such  interpretation  ?    Is  not  the 


126  EETKOSPECTS 

whole  question  about  the  essentials  of  personality  in  all 
minds  ?  This  therefore  strikes  me  as  the  question  in 
front :  and  till  we  reach  that  part  of  the  Essay,  we  are 
withheld,  in  spite  of  our  interest  as  we  read,  from  the 
real  business  of  the  discussion. 

*  My  reason  for  being  willing  to  part  with  the  second 
passage  is  somewhat  different.  The  language  of  these 
paragraphs  appears  to  me  to  underrate  the  philosophical 
certainty  of  Theism,  and  to  throw  it  upon  "  fugitive  " 
indications  for  which  it  will  be  difficult  to  secure  the 
confidence  of  intellectual  men.  Nor  can  I  acknowledge 
that  the  constancy  of  spiritual  light  tends  to  reduce  its 
ideal  value  and  sacredness.  Without  for  a  moment 
denying  the  varying  gleams  of  Divine  illumination,  yet 
I  hardly  think  it  wise  to  give  them  an  important 
place  in  a  systematic  treatment  of  a  question  raised 
by  the  sceptical  logic  of  severe  thinkers.  On  the  whole 
I  felt  a  certain  precariousness  in  these  paragraphs. 

*  So  much  for  the  possible  omissions.  On  other 
points  I  find,  that  wherever  my  assent  hesitates,  it  is 
that  I  am  a  more  unflinching  Dualist  than  you  are  dis- 
posed to  be.  For  instance,  from  no  "  ego,"  Divine  any 
more  than  human,  can  you  get  rid,  so  far  as  I  can  see, 
of  the  antithetic  "  non-ego."  Of  Personality,  in  which 
the  subject  is  not  differentiated  from  another,  I  can  form 
no  conception.  But  then,  that  from  which  the  thinking 
subject  is  marked  off  need  not  be  an  independent  or 
separate  being,  but  may  be  but  a  part  or  function  of  the 
subject  himself :  as  a  man  may  say,  "  I  think  this,  but 
my  hair  does  not."     So  an  all-comprehending  Mind  may 


JAMES   MAKTINEAU  127 

have  a  personal  life,  though  in  conscious  thought  and 
act  differentiated  only  from  parts  of  Nature,  which  are 
in  relation  to  the  organic  whole. 

*  It  is  very  probable,  however,  that,  in  my  close  and 
keen  interest  in  the  subject  and  its  writer,  I  may  have 
read  with  too  vigilant  an  eye,  and  overstrained  the 
purport  of  particular  phrases  ;  and  that  in  the  broader 
view  of  the  whole,  when  it  is  before  me,  all  my  criti- 
cisms will  vanish.     Forgive,  therefore,  my  scruples  and 

queries.' 

*  ♦  ♦  ♦  « 

*  5  Gordon  Street,  London,  W.C. :  October  18,  1877. 

*  Too  true  it  is  that  the  verge  of  limiting  darkness 
which  every  personal  union  is  always  approaching  is 
close  upon  my  sight,  and  no  lingering  steps  can  detain 
me  from  it  long.  .  .  .  We  can  hardly  wish  to  detain 
her  * — the  mere  prisoner  of  our  watchful  cares.  Mean- 
while, our  simple  and  sacred  duty  is  to  guide  her 
descending  steps  over  whatever  grass  and  flowers  we 
can  find,  and  soothe  the  last  embrace  with  the  inward 
calm  of  trust  and  love.  It  is  but  a  brief  separation ; 
the  emigrant  ship  will  soon  be  sent  for  me  too ;  and 
higher  work — as  I  firmly  hope  through  all  the  sadnesses 
of  experience  — be  found  for  us  together  in  another 
country,  even  a  heavenly.  In  the  interval  of  trial  and 
suspense,  no  sympathy,  and  no  stimulus  to  persevere  in 
my  appointed  tasks,  can  be  more  precious  to  me  than 
yours.  My  earlier  congenial  friends  have  dropped  off, 
and  left  me  almost  alone ;   and  I  need  the  more  the 

'  His  wife. 


128  EETKOSPECTS 

support  of  comparatively  recent  friendships,  and  the  help 
of  younger  eyes  to  see  the  world  and  human  life  in  the 
truest  and  the  freshest  light. 

*  I  am  thankful,  during  this  trying  time,  for  the 
necessity  of  constant  lecture-writing.  Difficult  as  it 
often  is,  the  interest  of  it  is  a  wholesome  engagement  to 
my  thoughts ;  and,  by  many  a  sweet  breath  of  truth, 
it  dissipates  the  cloud  of  gathering  sorrow.' 


'  5  Gordon  Street,  London,  W.C. :  November  18,  1878. 

*  I  have  a  lovers'  quarrel  to  settle  with  you  :  for  I  have 
been  upbraiding  you  for  running  away  with  me  to  the 
"  English  Lake  District,"  ^  when  I  ought  to  have  screwed 
myself  down  to  my  desk,  and  listened  only  to  the 

stern  Daughter  of  the  voice  of  God. 

However,  she  would  only  have  squeezed  out  of  me  some 
stifling  metaphysics :  while  you  have  poured  through 
me  the  very  breath  of  the  mountains  and 

the  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land ; 

so  that  in  spite  of  the  formal  reproaches  of  my  time- 
list,  I  shall  thank  you  from  my  heart  for  my  stolen 
holiday.  Your  charming  volume  will  be  an  insepar- 
able companion  of  the  poet's  works,  as  well  as  a  literary 
guide-book  to  his  district.  The  exactitude  and  com- 
pleteness with  which  you  have  both  tracked  his  steps 
and  exhibited  the  relation  between   the  real  and  the 

•  The  English  Lake  District,  as  interpreted  in  the  Poeins  of  Words- 
worth.   (D.  Douglas,  1878.) 


JAMES  MAETINEAU  129 

ideal  in  his  local  allusions,  fill  me  with  admiration. 
The  only  thing  I  regret  in  regard  to  the  book  is  that 
anything  has  been  omitted  from  the  Lecture  at  the 
end.  I  have  read  no  estimate  of  Wordsworth  that 
reproduces  so  entirely  my  own  feeling  respecting  him  as 

your  concluding  pages. 

***** 

*  Your  approval  of  my  Lecture  ^  is  very  comforting 
to  me.  I  know  well  that,  in  the  present  temper  of 
men's  minds,  its  protest  is  uttered  in  vain.  But 
behind  the  clouds  the  sun  remains,  and  shines ;  and 
though  the  great  world  may  forget  it,  it  is  worth  while 
to  keep  the  hope  alive,  in  some  poor  shivering  souls, 
that  ere  long  it  will  burst  forth  again  in  all  its  glory.' 


'  The  Polchar,  Eothiemurchus,  Aviemore  :  August  25,  1879. 

*  Though  I  always  shrink  from  saying  the  decisive 
word,  I  must  not  visit  my  own  suspensive  moods  upon 
your  undertaking,  but  must  force  myself  to  a  resolve, 
and  brush  my  hesitations  away.  I  will  do  my  best 
with  Spinoza,  and  if  my  life  and  powers  of  work  are 
prolonged,  the  task  shall  be  finished  within  the  two 
years  which  you  allow  me.  But  you  will  not  forget 
the  uncertainties  of  old  age.  I  am  surprised  that  you 
venture  to  encounter  them. 

*  I  have  now  got  together  most  of  the  books  which 
I  wanted  to  examine.  But  I  have  not  done  more  than 
glance  at  them  yet;  wishing  to  clear  off,  in  the  first 

Ideal  Substitutes  fm-  Ood,  1878. 
I.  K 


130  KETKOSPECTS 

place,    another    task    which    pressed    for    completion. 
With  September  I  hope  to  open  the  Spinoza  literature.' 


♦  5  Gordon  Street,  London,  W.C. :  December  17,  1879. 
***** 

*  Nor  did  I  know,  till  yesterday,  that  Frederick 
Pollock's  articles  on  Spinoza  are  but  pilot  balloons  to  an 
important  volume  from  him  on  the  great  Pantheistic 
philosopher.  The  two  facts  together  go  far  to  dash  my 
zeal  and  depress  my  work,  and  leave  me  in  a  mood 
anything  but  favourable  to  its  acceleration.  Pollock  is 
master  of  the  subject,  and  I  ought  not  to  mind  being 
eclipsed  by  his  completer  book:  but  my  smaller  task 
would  have  had  a  better  chance  of  serving  a  useful  end, 
had  it  been  differently  timed. 

*  At  the  present  stage  of  my  studies  I  find  it  im- 
possible to  give  any  pledge  about  completing  the  volume 
within  1880.  As  I  mean  to  divide  the  results  of  my 
reading  and  reflection  between  the  volume  and  my 
Ethical  Lectures,  I  am  obliged  to  get  the  entire  materials 
under  my  eye,  for  right  distribution,  before  I  write  a 
word :  and  as  the  literature  of  the  subject  has  become 
vast,  it  is  this  preliminary  study  which  holds  back  my 
hand,  and  which  I  find  it  as  yet  impossible  to  measure 
by  weeks  or  months.  If  I  could  get  through  my  reading 
and  planning  by  the  end  of  May,  I  think  I  could  write 
what  I  have  to  say  during  the  summer  and  autumn  in 
Scotland,  health  permitting ;  but  it  is  too  early  for  me 


JAMES  MAKTINEAU  131 

to  promise  more  than  an  honest  effort  to  bring  the  work 

within  these  limits.' 

*  ^  #  #  * 

•  35  Gordon  Square,  London,  W.C.  :  December  9,  1880. 

***** 

*  Of  the  book  itself  I  have  not  yet  written  a  word. 
But,  with  the  exception  of  Pollock's  book— now  on  my 
table — I  have  read  and  digested  all  the  related  literature 
that  I  wish  to  consult ;  and  have  reduced  my  own  notes 
— themselves  more  than  the  volume  in  bulk — to  a 
systematic  table  of  contents — on  the  scale  of  about 
fifty  pages — the  expansion  of  which  will  constitute  the 
book.  To  compress  adequately  will  be  my  difficulty; 
but  by  copious   excision  of  critical  matter  I  hope  to 

conform  to  the  limits  prescribed.' 

***** 

•  35  Gordon  Square,  London,  W.C. :  March  7,  1881. 

*  I  am  very  unwilling  to  add  to  your  editorial  troubles  ; 
but  am  obliged  to  submit  to  you  a  question  which  my 
Spinoza  work  renders  urgent.  In  my  anxiety  to  do 
my  task  with  thoroughness,  I  have  gathered  a  large 
mass  of  materials,  and  by  repeated  reflections  upon 
them  brought  them  into  a  rational  order  of  exposition. 
But  on  writing  them  out  into  the  full  text,  I  find  that  I 
have  been  operating  on  too  large  a  scale,  and  cannot 
possibly  bring  in  what  I  have  to  say  without  exceeding 
the  prescribed  limits.  The  biography  alone  (which  I 
have  just  completed)  will  require  a  hundred  pages  ;  and 
I  do  not  see  how  to  cut  it  down  without  destroying  any 
interest  it  may  have.     Then,   it  is   impossible   to   go 

K   2 


132  EETEOSPECTS 

straight  into  Spinoza's  metaphysics,  without  expounding 
the  logic  of  his  method.  There  follow  his  Physics,  his 
Ethics,  his  Politics,  his  relations  to  Theology,  all  of 
which,  instead  of  being  (as  they  ajffect  to  be)  mere 
deducibles  from  his  metaphysics,  involve  independent 
theories,  which  must  be  exhibited.  No  amount  of  com- 
pression can  bring  all  this  into  a  readable  volume  of 
the  series,  even  were  there  no  biography.  And  yet  the 
whole  forms  so  organic  a  system  of  thought,  that 
omission  becomes  mutilation. 

*  After  turning  the  matter  over  every  way,  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  ask  whether  I  may  make  two 
volumes  of  Spinoza,  instead  of  one.* 


'  35  Gordon  Square,  London,  W.C. :  March  24,  1881. 

*I  have  foolishly  undertaken  an  impossible  task, 
which  is  not  rendered  more  feasible  by  the  incon- 
venience of  modifying  its  conditions.  It  cannot  be 
denied  that  the  application  of  one  hard-and-fast  measure 
to  the  exposition  of  all  philosophies  alike,  without  regard 
to  their  differences  in  originality  and  range,  is  recom- 
mended by  nothing  but  mechanical  and  mercantile  sim- 
plicity. The  men  who,  like  Locke,  Hume,  and  Berkeley, 
are  representatives  of  essentially  the  same  doctrine  in 
different  generations,  cannot  need  the  large  canvas 
required  for  unique  figures — Spinoza,  Kant,  Hegel — 
originators  of  new  moulds  of  thought  and  an  entire 
dialect  foreign  to  common  use.  .  .  . 


JAMES  MAKTINEAU  133 

'I  think  it  would  be  a  pity  to  spoil  the  series 
by  enforcing  an  inflexible  measure  upon  variable 
material.  .  .  .' 

'  35  Gordon  Square,  London,  W.C. :  November  23,  1881. 

*  I  have  now  my  Spinoza  MS.  in  readiness,  and 
only  wait  for  your  instructions  to  forward  it.  ...  I 
have  exhausted  my  means  of  reducing  it.  So  that,  if 
the  publishers  decline  to  take  it  as  it  stands,  I  see 
nothing  possible  to  me,  except  to  withdraw  the  bio- 
graphy altogether,  and  bring  the  volume  out  as  a  bare 
analysis  of  doctrine.  In  that  case,  I  should,  on  my  own 
account,  add  another  volume,  containing  the  Life,  with 
the  matter  which  I  have  not  introduced,  viz.  the  notice 
of  Spinoza's  biblical  and  historical  criticism;  and  the 
discussion  of  the  supposed  sources  of  his  philosophy, 
and  of  its  influence  on  European  thought.  But  I  had 
much  rather  not  be  driven  to  this,  which  would  impair 
seriously  the  interest  of  the  earlier  volume,  though 
providing  (if  I  live  to  carry  it  out)  for  a  much  more 

complete  total  at  last.' 

***** 

'  35  Gordon  Square,  London,  W.C. :  December  5,  1881. 
***** 

*  The  fact  of  Pollock's  book  having  so  recently  ap- 
peared makes  it  especially  undesirable  to  render  the 
range  of  the  volume  less  comprehensive  than  his,  except 
in  regard  to  matter  extraneous  to  Spinoza  (such  as  the 
prior  sources  and  subsequent  workings  of  his  philo- 
sophy). 


134  KETKOSPECTS 

*  Finding  that  the  Wolfenbiittel  portrait  is  really  a 
fine  one,  I  have  obtained  permission  to  have  it  photo- 
graphed, .  .  .  Heinemann  says  that  this  portrait  is  the 
original  of  the  engraving  in  the  Posthumous  Works, 
1677,  which  Pollock  has  reproduced ;  but  that  engraving, 
he  says,  utterly  fails  to  give  the  least  idea  of  the  beauty 
of  the  original.  .  .  .' 


*  35  Gordon  Square,  London,  W.C. :  January  30,  1882. 
***** 

*  Messrs.  Blackwood  do  not  appear  to  see  that  the 
appearance  of  Pollock's  book  altered  essentially  the 
conditions  of  my  problem  after  I  had  undertaken  it.  It 
was  impossible  to  follow  so  thorough  a  book  with  a 
brief  attempt  (necessarily  futile)  to  popularise  the  most 
abstruse  of  philosophies.  The  volume  would  have  been 
without  excuse,  unless,  by  careful  treatment,  it  earned 
some  character  of  its  own. 

*  After  all,  the  publishers'  objection  resolves  itself,  in 
the  last  resort,  into  a  question  of  cost.  Well  then ;  why 
should  not  the  following  proposal  relieve  their  difficulty  ? 
Let  me  bear  the  outlay  for  compositors'  work,  press- 
work,  and  paper,  for  (say)  70  pages  (beyond  the  250 
which  they  sanctioned)  :  the  amount  being  deducted 
from  the  sum  they  would  otherwise  pay  me.  If  they 
did  not  overestimate  this  deduction,  and  agreed  with  me 
beforehand  what  it  should  be,  I  had  rather  consent  to 
this  than  cut  the  book  down.  The  selling  price  would 
then  be  the  same  as  that  of  the  other  volumes.     This 


JAMES  MAKTINEAU  135 

would  be  preferable   to   offering  the  public   a  bale  of 

damaged  goods  after  an  indefinite  delay.  .  .  .' 

***** 

'  35  Gordon  Square,  London,  W.C. :  April  17,  1882. 

yp  7f!  y^  7^  7^ 

'Green's  death  is  a  grave  sorrow  to  me.  No 
philosophical  thinker  of  our  time  seemed  to  me  so 
thorough  and  so  large,  though  I  could  never  go  with 
him  into  his  **  Hegelian  "  formulas.  I  always  hoped  that, 
working  in  the  line  of  *'  Moral "  philosophy,  he  would 
emerge  from  them,  especially  with  the  aid  of  his  strong 
religious  feeling.  .  .  .' 


♦  35  Gordon  Square,  London,  W.C. :  April  2,  1885. 
***** 

*It  is  inevitable  that,  on  a  book^ — which  so 
variously  runs  counter  to  the  dominant  influences  of 
the  time — batteries  should  open,  and  expose  the  structure 
of  its  doctrine  to  the  severest  strain.  It  is  a  happy 
thing,  with  these  theoretic  wounds,  that,  the  more  one 
is  hit,  the  more  is  one  healed :  for,  if  an  error  is 
knocked  out,  one  is  healthier  than  before.' 


'  The  Polchar,  Bothiemurchus,  Aviemore  :  September  19,  1888. 
***** 

*  These  Church    Subjects,  I  confess,  though  always 

attracting  me,  fill  me  with  despondency.     The  reading 

of  your    good    Bishop's    Charge,   with    the   Lambeth 

Conference  proposals  of  which  it  treats,  sinks  me  into 

*  Eeferring  to  his  Tyjpes  of  Ethical  Theory. 


13a  EETKOSPECTS 

despair  of  all  ecclesiastical  Christianity  :  so  hopelessly 
vast  is  the  gulf  between  the  whole  instituted  scheme  of 
thought  involved  in  it,  and  the  real  Truth,  Beauty,  and 
Goodness  secreted  within  the  Religion  of  Christ.  In  the 
selection  which  Authority  has  made  from  the  mixed 
elements  inevitable  in  every  historical  product,  the 
Transient  seem  to  have  been  seized  upon  for  consecra- 
tion and  enforcement,  and  the  Eternal  for  suppression 
and  contempt.  How  any  one  who  has  acquaintance  with 
the  present  stage  reached  by  Biblical  and  Historical 
criticism,  can  bear  the  puerilities  and  unrealities  of 
ecclesiastical  discussion,  I  cannot  understand.  The 
nearest  to  the  mind  of  Christ  appear  to  me  to  be  among 
the  people  who  believe  the  least  of  these  things,  and, 
were  they  only  swept  away,  would  build  in  a  trice  a 
spiritual  Temple  not  made  with  hands.  Yet  I  never 
feel  thus  iconoclastic,  except  when  I  read,  or  hear,  the 
lucubrations  of  Church  Conferences  and  Synods.  It 
was  well  for  me  that,  from  my  residence  here,  I  was 
unable  to  attend  the  London  meeting  of  Nonconformist 
Ministers  with  the  Bishops,  who  were  experimenting  on 
the  possibility  of  union.  If  I  had  not  met  the  fate  of 
Stephen,  it  would  have  been  only  because  words  are  not 

stones.' 

***** 

'  Gallants  Court,  East  Farleigh,  near  Maidstone :  April  24,  1889. 
*  In  all  my  budget  of  friendly  greetings  that  followed 
me  hither  on  Monday  last,  *  there  were  no  good  wishes 
more  precious  to  me  than  yours.    They  are  the  kind  of 

*  His  birthday 


JAMES  MAETINEAU  137 

treasure  which  make  life  still  dear  to  me :  and  while 
they  last,  old  age  can  never  lose  its  brightness.  How 
I  wish  that  you  could  have  realised  my  dream  of 
having  you  and  yours  for  our  neighbours  this  summer  ! 
The  stimulus  of  talk  on  the  great  topics  which  are 
supreme,  is  all  that  I  need  to  help  and  quicken  me  in 
the  work  which  still  engages  me  ;  work,  in  which  I  am 
apt  to  flag  through  self-distrust,  and  the  failure  of  hope 
incident  to  solitary  labour.  It  is  so  hard  for  waning 
faculty  to  detect  its  own  decline,  that  I  am  ever  in 
dread  of  self-deception,  lest  I  should  be  going  on  too 
long,  and  growing  garrulous  when  I  should  be  silent.  .  .  . 

*Will  it  fall  in  your  way,  I  wonder,  to  study  and 
criticise  the  curious  type  of  vague  or  semi-theism  which 
comes  out  in  Nettleship's  life  of  Thomas  Hill  Green,  in 
vol.  3  of  the  collected  works?  It  reveals  a  state  of 
mind  which  I  suspect  to  be  very  prevalent,  but  which 
can  never  set  into  any  form  of  permanent  influence.  It 
is  either  the  last  faint  streak  of  a  dissolving  nebula,  or 
the  first  visible  undulation  of  an  ethereal  medium  that 
must  condense  into  a  central  sun. 

*  I  had  intended  to  send  you  a  copy  of  our  protest 
against  taking  Manchester  New  College  to  Oxford ;  but 
I  fear  it  has  been  forgotten.  It  has  been  in  vain :  but 
though  the  verdict  is  against  us,  I  will  still  forward  you  a 

copy,  as  an  evidence  that  the  opposition  has  not  been  idle.' 

***** 

'  35  Gordon  Square,  London,  W.C. :  November  27,  1889. 

*I  have  always  regretted  that  I  have  twice  been 
disappointed    of  an    expected   opportunity   of  making 


138  EETEOSPECTS 

personal  acquaintance  with  the  Bishop  of  Eipon ; — once, 
when  he  was  prevented  by  a  summons  to  his  diocese 
from  fulfilling  an  intention  to  call  upon  me,  and  talk 
over  the  very  paper  about  which  you  now  inquire  ;  and 
again  at  the  late  Mrs.  Carpenter's.  The  first  of  these 
occasions  arose  from  my  having  sent  him  the  paper 
to  which  you  refer,  and  his  having  written  me  a  letter 
on  the  subject,  which  was  to  have  a  conversational  P.S. 

*  I  have  written  no  article  in  the  Contemporary  other 
than  what  afterwards  appeared  in  pamphlet  form,  under 
the  title  of  The  National  Church  as  a  Federal  Union, 
In  case  you  should  wish  to  refer  him  to  this,  I  have  asked 
Mr.  Macdonald,  Secretary  of  the  National  Church  Associa- 
tion, to  send  you  a  copy  or  two.  Were  it  to  come  from  me, 
it  might  seem  like  a  reminder  of  his  omission.  I  know 
how  good  and  interesting  a  man  he  is :  and  it  was  my 
admiration  and  respect  for  him  that  induced  me  to  let 
him  know  of  our  movement.  His  brother  also,  whom 
I  slightly  know,  is  one  of  the  best  of  our  London  clergy. 

*  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  of  the  commencement  you 
have  made  of  a  short  Morning  Service  at  your  Univer- 
sity.^ With  the  conditions  which  you  attach  to  it, — of 
its  being  voluntary,  and  catholic — it  cannot  but  add  a 
consecrating  character  to  the  corporate  bond.' 

***** 

•  The  Polchar,  Rothiemurchus,  Aviemore  :  October  10,  1890. 

*WaB  ever  a  poor  weak  will  assailed  by  such  a 
shower  of  killing  hits   as  you  direct  upon   mine  ?     A 

*  The  experiment  of  a  daily  service,  from  8.45  to  9  o'clock,  in  the 
College  chapel  of  St.  Salvator's. 


JAMES   MAKTINEAU  139 

perfect  mitrailleuse  of  persuasive  pleas  before  which,  it 
would  seem,  everything  must  go  down.  To  be  under 
your  own  roof  again — to  see  and  hear  the  "  long-desired  " 
Edward  Caird,  as  well  as  the  other  honoured  guests 
whom  you  propose  to  bring  together, — what  more  en- 
ticing group  of  privileges  could  be  devised  to  play  upon 
me  ?  And  yet  I  must  harden  myself  against  them  all, 
though  well  aware  that  such  opportunity  can  never 
occur  again.  .  .  .  Moreover,  though  I  am  not  unmindful 
of  Cicero's  advice — "  resistendum  est  senectuti  " — I  can- 
not hide  from  myself  that  I  am  but  an  unworthy  intruder 
now  (perhaps  always  was,  had  I  known  myself  as  well) 
upon  the  "  colloquies  of  the  gods,"  and  am  in  my  proper 
place  only  at  home  among  my  people  and  at  my  study- 
desk. 

*  Do  not  think  me  ungrateful,  but  lay  my  refusal  on 
Anno  Domini,  not  on  my  will.  With  heartiest  thanks 
and  regrets,  I  remain,  always.' 

*  #  #  ♦  # 

•The  Polchar,  Bothiemurchus,  Aviemore  :  July  13,  1891. 
***** 

*I  am  reading  with  much  interest  a  remarkable 
book  on  the  Philosophy  of  Keligion  by  the  French 
Professor  Sabatier,  lent  me  by  Dr.  Keith,  the  Free- 
Kirk  Professor  and  Minister  at  Glasgow.  Sabatier  is 
the  Dean  of  the  Faculty  of  Protestant  Theology  in  the 
College  de  France.  His  theology  is  a  peculiar  mixture 
of  free-thinking  criticism  with  reverence  for  the  religion 
of  Christ,  as  the  supreme  point  as  yet  reached  of  human 
thought  on  Divine  things.      The  position   indicates  a 


140  RETKOSPECTS 

considerable  change  in  French  Protestantism  since  the 
time  of  Guizot.' 


'  The  Polchar,  Rothiemurchus,  Aviemore  :  October  30,  1892. 

*  I  had  not  the  privilege,  which  the  Times  assigned 
to  me,  of  joining  in  the  solemn  tribute  of  honour  to 
Tennyson  in  the  Abbey.  .  .  .  For  me,  no  lapsed  life 
carries  so  large  a  portion  of  the  retreating  age  away. 

'  All  this  summer  .  .  .  many  a  time  have  I  turned  a 
longing  eye  upon  the  Larig  pass,^  and  wondered  whether 
you  were  looking  down  upon  our  forest  roads.  The 
season  has  not  abounded  in  tempting  opportunities  for 
so  venturesome  a  walk  ;  and  I  am  sure  that  any  enter- 
prise about  which  you  could  feel  a  doubt  is  better  left 
untried. 

*  I  half  reproach  myself  for  an  exceptionally  unfruit- 
ful summer.  The  week  in  Dublin  was  profoundly 
interesting  to  me  on  all  accounts,  private  and  public. 
In  going  through  it,  I  felt  as  if  I  were  completing  my 
appointed  lot,  and  winding  off  its  latest  thread  at  the 
very  point  of  its  first  attachment.  The  visit,  however, 
to  Lord  Kosse's  and  the  great  telescope  was  a  new,  and 
most  interesting  episode.' 


•  35  Gordon  Square,  London,  W.C. :  November  20,  1893. 

*  Your  benevolent  desire  to  introduce  me  to  Edward 
Caird  has  my  warmest  thanks, — the  more  cordial  because 

'  I  was  living  at  Braemar,  whence  a  track  leads  across  to  Aviemore. 


JAMES  MAETINEAU  141 

I  am  well  aware  that  the  privilege  and  gain  must  be  all 
upon  my  side.  And  though  I  do  not  think  I  am  too  old 
to  learn,  I  am  conscious  of  having  no  longer— even  if 
I  ever  had — any  return  to  make  to  a  friend  that  has 
patience  to  bear  with  me,  and  teach  me.  On  this  side 
alone  have  I  any  hesitation  in  giving  an  eager  response 
to  your  suggestion ;  for  I  need  not  say  to  you  that  no 
philosophical  difference  can  in  the  slightest  degree  chill 
my  admiration  for  the  nobleness  and  brilliancy  of  E.  C.'s 
personality.  But  it  strikes  me  that  for  some  time  he 
will  have  enough  to  do  in  effecting  so  great  a  change  as 
the  initiation  into  the  duties  of  his  new  office,  without 
needless  accessories.  Though  Balliol  can  never  again 
be  to  me  what  it  has  been  in  past  years,  I  shall  now 
and  then  be  in  Oxford,  and  shall  most  thankfully  be 
armed  with  a  better  title  than  my  personal  name-card 
to  call  at  the  old  door  on  the  new  Master,  if  you  will  let 
me  send  in  also  a  few  lines  from  yourself.  .  .  .' 


*  35  Gordon  Square,  London,  W.C. :  May  12,  1895. 

*  It  would  indeed  be  pleasant  could  I,  on  looking 
back  over  my  long  years  of  opportunity,  appropriate 
even  in  small  measure  your  far  too  appreciative  estimate. 
Kather  must  I  side  with  the  critics  who  tell  me  that, 
instead  of  guiding  others,  I  have  always  been  disturbing 
them.  The  mere  record  of  my  own  personal  changes  of 
theological  conviction,  and  the  withdrawal  by  myself  of 
certain  early  publications  from  reproduction,  seem  to 
make  good  the  charge  of  instability.     The  only  answer 


142  EETKOSPECTS 

I  can  make  itself  includes  an  acknowledgment  of  the 
impeachment ;  viz.  that  what  has  been  relinquished  is 
historical  tradition,  which  partially  crumbles  away  under 
the  skilled  search  for  its  foundation ;  while  what  has 
been  retained  is  the  living  and  present  relation,  wit- 
nessed by  consciousness  itself,  between  the  human  spirit 
and  the  Divine — and  when  once  known  there,  re-found 
and  recognised  in  its  perfection — under  the  unique  per- 
sonality of  "  Christ,  our  Head."  The  substitution,  in 
short,  of  Eeligion  at  first-hand^  straight  out  of  the 
immediate  interaction  between  the  soul  and  God,  for 
Eeligion  at  second-hand^  fetched,  by  copying  out  of 
anonymous  traditions  of  the  Eastern  Mediterranean 
eighteen  centuries  ago,  has  been  the  really  directing 
though  hardly  conscious  aim  of  my  responsible  years  of 
life.  So  far  as  it  is  one-sided,  it  will  doubtless  be 
corrected,  and  supplemented  by  teachers  of  wider  and 
deeper  vision.  I  thank  God  if  it  has  been  entrusted  to 
me  with  any  function  serviceable  for  the  needs  of  its  day.' 


'  35  Gordon  Square,  London,  W.C. :  April  25,  1896. 

*  The  lapse  of  four  days  does  not  suffice  to  render  my 
heart's  thanks  for  your  birthday  blessing  a  single  degree 
less  warm ;  nor  do  I  believe  that  they  will  receive, 
through  the  delay,  a  less  kindly  welcome.  I  have  had 
at  times  some  fear  of  outliving  the  patience  of  my  friends. 
But  thus  far,  even  into  this  tenth  decade,  I  have  ex- 
perienced nothing  but  their  forbearance  and  supporting 
affection.     I  owe  much,  I  believe,  to  the  happy  privilege 


JAMES  MAKTINEAU  143 

of  having,  through  nearly  eight  out  of  my  ten  decades, 
been — as  a  teacher — continuously  in  contact  with  the 
young,  and  kept  in  sympathy  with  the  developing 
thought  and  feeling  of  almost  three  generations.  No 
man  can  have  less  excuse  for  falling  out  of  touch  with 
the  living  movements,  and  problems,  of  his  latest  time. 
It  would  be  nothing  less  than  a  heinous  sin  in  me  to 
become  superannuated !  Yet  such  assuredly  I  am,  in 
the  eyes  of  our  agnostics  and  positivists.' 


144  RETKOSPECTS 


ABTHUB  STANLEY 

I  piEST  met  Dean  Stanley  at  Mr.  Erskine's  house, 
Linlathen,  Forfarshire,  in  1869,  while  I  was  resident  in 
Dundee.  The  contrast  and  the  affinity  between  host 
and  guest  in  that  delightful  home  were  alike  remarkable. 
I  have  already  referred  to  Mr.  Erskine  in  writing  of 
Carlyle  and  of  Maurice.  Perhaps  his  characteristics 
came  out  more  remarkably  when  Stanley  was  his 
guest.  The  Dean  had  wider  sympathy,  a  broader  and 
more  complex  range  of  view ;  Erskine  the  deeper  and 
more  penetrating  vision.  Stanley  was  far  more  radiant, 
versatile,  many-sided,  humorous  ;  but  in  some  respects 
Erskine  was  more  elevated,  calm,  and  saintly.  Their 
deep  appreciation  of  each  other,  with  differences 
recognised  but  not  accentuated,  struck  all  who  heard 
them  converse  together.  Mr.  Erskine  was  one  of  the 
most  gentle  and  unassuming  of  men,  while  valiant  in 
proclaiming  what  he  held  to  be  right.  In  another 
volume  I  have  written  down  a  few  reminiscences  of  him,^ 
and  others  have  done  so  to  greater  purpose.^    It  was 

*  In  Some  Nineteenth  Century  Scotsmen  (1903),  pp.  177-191. 
'  See  Letters  of  Thomas  Erskine  of  Linlathen,  by  William  Hanna 
(1877) ;    Studies  in  Poetry  and  Philosophy,  by  Principal  Shairp  (1886) ; 


AKTHUE  STANLEY  145 

when  entertaining  his  friends  in  that  kindly  home  in  the 
North  that  all  the  finest  features  of  his  character  were 
disclosed.  Latterly  there  was  a  strange  sadness  in  his 
countenance,   the  outcome   of   long  pondering  on  the 

*  riddle  of  the  painful  earth '  and  the  transitoriness  of 
life.  He  seemed  to  realise  increasingly  that  while  *  in 
the  world  '—and  with  plenty  of  work  to  do  in  it — he  was 

*  not  of  it ' ;  but  only  a  transient  visitant  in  a  place  into 

which  he  had  come  for  education,  rather  than  enjoyment. 

He  had 

to  live  that  each  to-morrow  . 
Found  him  farther  than  to-day 

on  the  roadway  of  experience ;  while  his  successive  homes 
were  but  caravansaries  at  which  he  halted  for  the  night. 
The  departure  of  his  old  friends  gave  him  an  increasing 
sense  of  solitude.  Even  so  far  back  as  1855,  long  before 
I  knew  him  and  when  he  was  sixty-seven  years  of  age,  he 
wrote  to  Mrs.  Eussell  Gurney :  *  My  contemporaries  are 
dead,  and  the  friends  I  see  about  me  do  not  remember 
what  I  remember.  We  have,  however,  a  great  common 
future,  and  one  common  nature.' 

These  reminiscences  of  his  friend,  which  have  called 
me  away  from  Dean  Stanley,  are  justifiable  by  the 
closeness  of  the  tie  which  united  the  two  men. 

In  the  autumn  of  1870,  a  copy  of  Dr.  Duncan's 
CoUoquia  Peripatetica  had  been  sent  to  him  by  a 
common  friend,  which  he  acknowledged  in  the  following 
letter  : 

Erskine  of  Linlathen,  Selections  and  Biography,  by  H.  F.  Henderson 
(1899) ;  and  Letters  of  Amelia  Russell  Gurney  (1903). 

I.  L 


146  EETBOSPECTS 

*  Megginch,  Errol :   August  20,  1870. 

*  My  dear  Dr.  Watson, — On  going  into  Perth  yesterday 
I  tried  to  get  Golloqtiia  Peripatetica,  and  found  that 
the  last  copy  had  just  been  sold.  I  was  therefore  doubly 
grateful  to  you  for  your  welcome  gift. 

*  I  have  read  it  through  with  the  greatest  interest, 
and  should  much  like  to  see  the  author  when  he  is  next 
in  London. 

*  It  is  certainly  a  very  unusual  collection  of  learning 
of  various  sorts  and  of  original  remarks  ;  nothing  quite 
like  it  is  known  to  me.  Many  of  the  dicta^  so  tersely 
put,  embody  a  rare  amount  of  wisdom ;  while  the  in- 
cisive judgments  on  philosophical,  religious,  and  theo- 
logical, as  well  as  literary  problems,  are  valuable  alike 
when  we  agree  and  when  we  differ.  The  presence  of 
such  a  man  in  one  of  the  Scots  theological  colleges 
must  have  been  a  real  education  to  the  students. 

*It  is  perhaps  characteristic  that,  in  spite  of  the 
numerous  changes,  and  the  wide  sympathies  of  Dr. 
Duncan,  there  is — as  far  as  I  can  see — but  one  passage 
expressing  the  slightest  diffidence,  or  hesitation,  as  to 
the  positive  certainty  of  the  opinions  at  which  he  had 
arrived. 

*  There  are  two  observations  which  he  makes  about 
the  Church  of  Scotland,  which  are  to  me  perfectly  true  : 
one,  that  all  Christendom  is  presbyterian  at  every  ordi- 
nation ;  the  other,  that  the  divisions  in  Scotland  are  not 
of  sects,  but  of  parties. 

*  Who  was  the  V.V.  that  maintained  (not  altogether 
unsuccessfully)  so  long  an  argument  with  him  ? 


AETHUK  STANLEY  147 

*  I  trust  we  shall  meet  again  at  Westminster. 
'  I  am  glad  that  my  detention  here  gave  me  the  oppor- 
tunity of  hearmg  two  excellent  sermons  from  Mr.  Barclay. 

*  Yours  sincerely, 

*  A.  P.  Stanley.' 

Dean  Stanley  had  an  intense  and  abiding  love  for 
St.  Andrews,  for  the  city  and  its  surroundings,  for  the 
University  and  its  traditions.  His  historical  eye,  and 
his  fondness  for  parallels,  led  him  to  speak  of  it  as  the 
Oxford  of  Scotland.  When  Lord  Kector  of  the  University 
he  delivered  two  noble  addresses  to  its  students,  and 
preached  to  them  both  in  the  college  chapel  of  St.  Sal- 
vator's  and  in  the  parish  church.  In  his  first  rectorial 
address  he  described  the  ruined  cathedral  thus  : 

'  This  temple,  as  another  Minerva,  planted  as  on 
another  storm-vexed  cape  of  Sunium,  this  secluded 
sanctuary  of  ancient  wisdom — with  the  foam-flakes  of 
the  Northern  Ocean  driving  through  its  streets,  with  the 
skeleton  of  its  antique  magnificence  lifting  up  its  gaunt 
arms  into  the  sky — still  carries  on  the  traditions  of  its 
first  beginnings.  Two  voices  sound  through  it.  One 
is  of  the  sea,  one  of  the  cathedral — "  each  a  mighty 
voice  "  ;  two  inner  corresponding  voices  also,  which  in 
any  Institution  that  has  endured  and  deserves  to  endure, 
must  be  heard  in  unison,  the  voice  of  a  potent  past,  and 
the  voice  of  an  invigorating  future.' 

This,  and  other  descriptions  in  prose  by  the  Dean, 
are  as  fine  in  their  way  as  is  Andrew  Lang's  AlmcB 
Matres  in  verse.  As  a  conversationalist,  Stanley  was 
at  his  very  best   whenever  he  spoke  of  St.  Andrews. 

L  2 


148  EETKOSPECTS 

I  remember  how  Frederick  W.  Faber's  sonnet  entitled 
*Aged  Cities  '  was  once  read  in  his  hearing,  and  he  im- 
mediately said,  *That  thirteenth  line  applies  to  your 
own  St.  Andrews.  It  "  carries  age  so  nobly  in  its  look."  ' 
Since  his  remark  connects  Oxford  with  St.  Andrews,  the 
sonnet  may  be  quoted  in  full : 

I  have  known  cities  with  the  strong-armed  Khine 

Clasping  their  mouldered  quays  in  lordly  sweep  ; 

And  lingered  where  the  Main's  low  waters  shine 

Through  Styrian  Frankfort ;  and  been  fain  to  weep 

'Mid  the  green  cliffs  where  pale  Mosella  laves 

That  Eoman  sepulchre,  imperial  Treves. 

Ghent  boasts  her  street,  and  Bruges  her  moonlit  square ; 

And  holy  Mechlin,  Rome  of  Flanders,  stands 

Like  a  queen-mother,  on  her  spacious  lands ; 

And  Antwerp  shoots  her  glowing  spire  in  air. 

Yet  have  I  seen  no  place,  by  inland  brook, 

Hill-top,  or  plain,  or  trim  arcaded  bowers. 

That  carries  age  so  nobly  in  its  look 

As  Oxford  with  the  sun  upon  her  towers. 

The  way  in  which  Stanley  instinctively  seized  upon 
the  genius  loci,  and  read  the  past  history  of  the  Cathedral 
and  the  University  while  walking  in  the  streets  of 

The  little  city  old  and  grey, 

was  very  characteristic.  I  remember  once  crossing 
Westminster  Bridge  with  him  coming  from  Lambeth, 
and  remarking  on  the  fascination  of  the  Thames  (it  was 
flood-tide,  and  the  river  suggested  Mr.  Wyllie's  picture 
of  the  *  Highway  of  the  Nations').  He  replied,  *  It's 
nothing  to  what  you  have  in  the  North,  continually 
before  your  eyes.'  He  did  not  seem  to  enjoy  any  scene 
unless  when  it  was  lit  up  to  him  by  the  historical  imagi- 


AETHUE   STANLEY  149 

nation,  unless  some  pathos  was  brought  into  it  from 
the  distant  past,  its  old  incidents  made  to  live  again  in  a 
posthumous  manner.  Strolling  with  him  on  the  historic 
Links,  he  did  not  care  to  watch  a  game  of  golf ;  and  he 
would  not  have  appreciated  a  remark  made  to  me  by 
Charles  Keade,  the  novelist,  when  he  came  to  the  Club- 
house and  sauntered  out  to  the  second  hole,  *  This  is  just 
"  linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out."  '  When  the  Dean 
walked  there,  his  mind  was  at  once  busied  with  the  past, 
with  what  had  happened  between  St.  Andrews  and 
Guard-bridge,  or  the  assassination  on  Magus  Moor. 

Nor  can  one  forget  his  wonderfully  gracious  tact  as  a 
guide  within  his  own  Abbey,  the  joy  it  gave  him  to 
pioneer  not  only  earnest  students  of  English  history, 
but  also  ignorant  or  half-instructed  crowds  of  working- 
men  and  women,  on  holiday-afternoons,  through  its 
sacred  precincts.  It  was  an  education  to  accompany 
him  when  he  had  a  few  sympathetic  friends,  or  strangers 
from  other  lands,  and  spoke  to  them  of  the  life  and 
work  of  the  wondrous  dead  who  now  lie  in  the  abbey  of 
which  he  was  the  official  custodian  ;  but  these  hours 
with  the  working  classes  were  even  more  instructive.  If 
anyone  knew  the  history  of  England — as  recorded  in  that 
monumental  shrine— better  than  he  did,  certainly  no  one 
ever  unfolded  it  in  a  more  luminous,  picturesque,  or 
graphic  manner ;  and  walks  and  talks  with  him  in  the 
aisles,  the  transepts,  the  choir  of  the  Abbey  remain  a 
joyous  possession  to  many. 

I  remember  being  with  him  when  he  was  con- 
ducting the  members   of   the  Old  Testament  Revision 


160  KETKOSPECTS 

Committee  one  autumn  afternoon  from  Henry  VII.'s 
Chapel  up  the  stairs  behind  the  choir,  while  the  sunset 
streamed  through  the  western  window,  and  lit  up  the 
nave  of  the  Church  with  a  glory  peculiarly  its  own.  He 
was  telling  us  much  of  the  architecture,  when  a  sudden 
shade  of  light  irradiated  it ;  and,  after  a  brief  silence 
which  was  instinctive,  the  Bishop  of  Ely,  Dr.  Harold 
Browne,  exclaimed  :  *  This  is  the  finest  sight  in  England ; 
and  Ely  Cathedral  is  the  second.' 

Dean  Stanley's  constant  intercourse  with  so  many 
minds,  both  lay  and  clerical,  of  every  different  type — in 
Church  and  State  alike — gave  him  a  sympathy  with  many 
whose  opinions  he  could  not  adopt,  that  was  almost 
unrivalled.  Theologically  and  ecclesiastically  he  was 
perhaps  the  widest-minded  man  of  his  age.  He  was 
almost  equally  attracted  by  the  character  and  person- 
ality of  the  High  Anglican  and  Eoman  sections  of  his 
contemporaries — Newman,  Ward,  and  Faber — and  by 
those  of  his  teacher  Arnold,  Julius  Hare,  and  John 
Sterling.  He  admired  and  extolled  the  work  done  by 
illustrious  Nonconformists,  quite  as  much  as  that 
accomplished  by  the  divines  of  the  Church  by  law 
established.  When  he  came  to  Scotland  it  used  often 
to  be  remarked  that  he  knew  more  about  its  ecclesiastical 
divisions,  and  minor  sects,  than  any  of  the  divines  he  met. 
But  his  sympathies  ranged  out  far  beyond  the  Church, 
of  which  he  was  so  illustrious  a  representative.  They 
became  more  and  more  cosmopolitan  as  time  went  on. 
They  were  with  the  archaic  and  the  modern,  with  the 
classical,  the  historical,  the  scientific  and  artistic,  with 


AKTHUE   STANLEY  151 

the  political,  social,  and  national.  His  desire  was  to 
make  the  Abbey  more  and  more  distinguished  as  the 
resting-place  of  the  ashes  of  the  great,  in  every  sphere 
of  noble  action  and  fruitful  achievement ;  that  it  should 
be  the  material  counterpart  of  *  the  choir  invisible  '  of  all 
who  had  lived  for  the  true,  the  beautiful,  and  the  good. 

When  the  memorial  statue  of  Wordsworth  was 
erected  in  the  Baptistery,  he  was  greatly  interested  in 
the  inscription  which  should  be  placed  beneath  it.  The 
sculpture  was  the  work  of  Frederick  Thrupp.  On  the 
western  side  of  the  same  enclosure  there  are  busts  of 
Kebleand  Dr.  Arnold,  (which  are  fairly  good),  of  Maurice 
Kingsley  and  Matthew  Arnold,  (which  are  not  good),  and 
there  are  windows  put  in  by  Mrs.  Child  of  Boston,  in 
memory  of  George  Herbert  and  William  Cowper  ;  but 
the  Wordsworth  statue  is  by  far  the  most  interesting 
memorial  in  that  historic  spot.  Thinking  of  the  best 
inscription  to  be  carved  beneath  it,  Stanley  consulted, 
amongst  others,  his  friend  Principal  Shairp.  Without 
a  moment's  hesitation  Shairp  replied,  *  Let  it  be  the 
poet's  own  lines. 

Blessings  be  with  them  and  eternal  praise, 
Who  gave  us  nobler  loves,  and  nobler  cares, 
The  poets,  who  on  earth  have  made  ns  heirs 
Of  truth  and  pure  delight  by  heavenly  lays ! ' 

And  these  lines  are  inscribed  on  the  pedestal. 

The  Dean's  Lectures  on  the  History  of  the  Jewish 
Church  is  the  book  by  which,  perhaps,  he  will  be  longest 
known.  In  connection  with  it,  a  small  thing  may  be 
mentioned,  because  of  the  interest  it  gave  to  some  guests 


152  EETEOSPECTS 

at  Megginch  in  the  autumn  of  1877.  In  the  forty-fifth 
lecture — which  is  on  Malachi,  and  the  close  of  the  Eoman 
period — after  tracing  the  relations  of  the  Jewish  Church 
to  the  Gentile  World,  and  glancing  at  Zoroaster  Confucius 
and  Buddha,  noting  the  contact  of  the  first  of  them  and 
the  aloofness  of  the  other  two  from  the  Hebrew  World, 
the  lecturer  refers  to  the  coming  blank  of  three  centuries 
of  which  in  Palestine  we  know  almost  nothing.  Yet  not 
the  less  the  hour  had  come  when  an  influence  more 
penetrating  was  about  to  burst  upon  the  development 
of  the  Jewish  Church,  and  almost  contemporary  with 
the  last  of  the  Hebrew  seers  arose  the  earliest  prophets 
of  the  European  world.  They  had  been  looking  to  the 
East,  and  thence  receiving  light ;  but  it  had  ceased  to 
shine.  Was  there  any  hope  of  its  now  appearing  in  the 
West  ?    The  Dean  quotes  the  lines  of  Clough, 

And  not  by  eastern  windows  only, 

When  daylight  comes,  comes  in  the  light, 

In  front  the  sun  climbs  slow,  how  slowly. 
But  westward,  look,  the  land  is  bright. 

And  the  next  lecture  is  devoted  to  Socrates, 

These  lectures  on  the  Jewish  Church  are  a  triumphant 
vindication  of  the  historical  method  of  inquiry  in  the 
domain  of  Religion,  and  they  have  not  yet  done  perhaps 
all  the  service  they  are  destined  to  do  in  the  re-forma- 
tion of  opinion,  advancing  with  such  rapid  strides. 
Stanley  repeatedly  and  very  earnestly  asserted  the 
impossibility  of  a  literal  subscription  to  any  articles  of 
belief.  We  often  talked  on  this  subject.  Unless  every 
mind  was  identical  with  every  other  mind  in  faculty,  in 


AETHUE   STANLEY  163 

the  balance  of  its  powers  and  methods  of  apprehension, 
similarity  in  opinion  was  no  more  possible  than  identity 
in  feeling;  and  if  opinion  and  feeling  necessarily  vary 
in  each  man,  woman,  and  child,  how  can  they  put  the 
same  interpretation  on  the  Creeds,  or  on  those  Scriptures 
from  which  the  former  are  derived?  If  identity  of 
opinion  were  sought,  the  Church  would  be  narrowed  down 
to  the  individual.  He  enjoyed  the  story  of  the  rigidly 
orthodox  Highland  woman,  to  whom  her  minister  said, 
*  You'll  be  thinking  that  there's  naebody  soond,  and  safe, 
but  you  and  your  gude  man,'  and  who  at  once  replied, 
*Ah,  but  I'm  na  sae  sure  o'  Geordie.'  His  supreme 
desire  was  that  the  Church  should  be  an  inclusive — not 
an  exclusive — society;  that  it  should  embrace  and 
tolerate  within  it  every  genuine  type  of  religious  thought, 
with  all  the  varied  phases  of  character  which  were  the 
product  of  devout  aspiration. 

Many  admirable  things  have  been  written  or  told  of  the 
Dean's  humour,  and  his  appreciation  of  the  humorous 
side  of  life.  Two  which  I  heard  from  him  I  may  repro- 
duce. Coming  once  from  Methven  to  Megginch  alone, 
about  the  12th  of  August,  and  having  to  pass  through  the 
station  of  Perth — at  that  time  of  year  always  crowded 
— many  were  lamenting  the  loss  of  luggage.  An  old 
widowed  Scots  woman  in  particular  was  remonstrating, 
gesticulating,  and  abusing  the  ofl&cials.  The  Dean  tried 
to  console  her  with  the  hope  that  she  would  recover  her 
lost  property.  *Ey  Sir,  meenister,'  she  said  (seeing 
he  was  a  clergyman),  *I  can  stand  ony  pairtins,  but 
pairtin  wi'  ma  baggage.' 


164  KETKOSPECTS 

On  another  occasion  he  was  journeying  in  the  same 
neighbourhood,  when  two  fellow-passengers  in  his  car- 
riage, ignorant  of  who  he  was,  began  to  abuse  the  heretical 
and  latitudinarian  Dean,  unstinting  in  their  denuncia- 
tions. When  he  reached  his  station,  and  was  about  to 
walk  to  a  carriage  in  waiting,  he  suddenly  remembered 
that  he  had  left  his  umbrella  in  the  train  and  returned 
for  it,  when  the  passenger  who  had  used  so  many  bad 
words  about  him  had  taken  it  up,  and  found  the  name 
(the  Dean  of  Westminster)  on  the  handle.  He  apolo- 
gized profoundly,  and  said  that  he  did  not  know  who  it 
was  who  was  travelling  with  him.  *  Never  mind,'  said 
the  Dean.  *  You  have  given  me  a  good  deal  to  think 
about,  and  I  am  much  obliged  to  you.' 

Another  of  the  minor  but  not  trivial  things  worth 
recording  is  that  Dean  Stanley  was  never  known  to  lose 
his  temper  with  either  friend  or  foe,  with  disputant 
or  antagonist,  or  anyone  whose  casual  acquaintance 
he  made.  The  genial  radiance  of  that  sunny  tempera- 
ment of  his,  the  brightness  of  his  clear-souled  sym- 
pathetic vision,  made  loss  of  temper  as  impossible  to 
him  as  the  existence  of  envy  or  vanity.  He  was  always, 
and  to  all  alike,  a  *  shining  visitant.' 

When  in  Scotland  the  Dean  gave  proof  of  his 
catholicity  by  preaching  in  many  of  the  Presbyterian 
parish  churches,  in  Grey  friars,  Edinburgh,  Eoseneath, 
Errol,  and  Dundee,  as  well  as  St.  Andrews.  In  July 
1874  I  received  a  letter  from  him  in  reply  to  one 
returning  a  misdirected  letter  which  had  reached  me 
by  mistake. 


AKTHUK   STANLEY  155 

*  Deanery,  Westminster. 

'I  am  very  glad  that  the  mistaken  address  of  my 
letter  took  it  to  you,  as  it  has  elicited  so  interesting  a 
letter.  I  have  followed  your  career  with  unabated  atten- 
tion and  pleasure ;  and,  much  as  I  could  have  wished 
for  ourselves  that  you  had  cast  your  lot  on  this  side  the 
Tweed,  I  fully  appreciate,  and  entirely  commend,  your 
motives  in  remaining  where  you  are,  and  shall  certainly 
hope  to  accept  your  kind  invitation  to  preach  in  your 
Church.' 

Later  on,  March  5,  1875,  he  wrote  as  follows : — 

*  Owing  to  the  collision  between  *  *  and  the  Bishop 
of  London,  which  you  may  have  seen  noticed  in  the  news- 
papers, they  agreed  to  make  an  amicable  reference  of  a 
joint  case  for  a  legal  decision  on  the  lawfulness  of  Church 
of  England  clergy  preaching  in  Nonconformist  chapels. 
In  order  to  get  the  whole  question  put  on  its  widest 
basis,  the  point  was  also  submitted  as  to  our  preaching 
in  the  Presbyterian  Churches  of  Scotland.  I  have 
hardly  a  doubt  that,  as  regards  the  latter  case,  the  legal 
opinion  will  be  favourable ;  and  also,  if  the  opinion  is 
not  yet  pronounced  I  should  act  as  heretofore.  But, 
ex  ahundanti  cautela,  I  think  it  right  to  say  that,  should 
the  opinion  be  adverse,  I  will  not  preach.' 

Knowing  that  he  was  to  be  at  St.  Andrews  delivering 
an  address  as  Lord  Rector,  I  asked  him  in  January  1875 
to  come  to  Dundee,  and  speak  to  our  newly  formed 
University  Club  in  that  city.  He  gladly  acquiesced ; 
and,  as  the  time  approached,  fixed  the  2nd  of  April  for 


166  KETEOSPECTS 

his  visit.  He  afterwards  wrote  asking  for  details  as  to 
his  audience,  and  said,  *  I  think  of  an  old  lecture  with  a 
new  face,  under  the  title  of  **  The  Eelations  of  Theology, 
Science,  and  Literature."  ' 

As  the  lecture  which  he  gave  on  this  subject  is  full 
of  interest,  dexterously  put,  and  is  not  accessible  in 
print,  it  will  be  reproduced  at  the  close  of  this 
chapter;  not  unfortunately  from  the  MS.,  but  from  the 
newspaper  report  of  the  hour.  He  came  across  from 
St.  Andrews,  and  addressed  a  large  audience  which  filled 
the  Albert  Hall ;  spent  the  night  and  part  of  the  next 
day  with  friends,  and  saw  what  was  of  interest  to  him. 
Mr.  Erskine  of  Linlathen,  and  others,  came  in  to  meet 
him.  His  host  and  hostess  remember  two  things :  the 
gracious  manner  in  which  he  spoke  to  little  children, 
and  the  way  in  which  he  left  a  benediction — both  literal 
and  figurative — behind  him.  In  the  morning  of  the  day 
he  left,  the  provost  of  the  city  called  to  try  to  induce 
him  to  visit  a  jute  factory !  an  experience  which  would 
have  been  most  distasteful,  and  which  he  politely 
declined.  Lady  Augusta  was  not  with  him.  She  was 
too  ill  to  leave  London,  and  when  he  revisited  Dundee 
the  following  year,  while  on  a  brief  journey  in  Scotland, 
she  had  died  ;  and  he  was  accompanied  by  his  friend 
Canon  Pearson. 

When  he  was  writing  on  Southey,  he  wrote  to  me 
about  the  *  Eock  of  Names  '  on  the  shore  of  Thirlmere ; 
and,  as  the  note  indicates  his  love  of  accuracy,  it  may 
be  quoted.  There  had  been  other  initials  foolishly 
carved  by  egotistical   trippers   on  the  historic   stone. 


AKTHUK   STANLEY  157 

beside  those  of  the  Wordsworth  and  Coleridge  family — 
v/hose  meeting-place  it  used  to  be — and  its  very  authen- 
ticity came  to  be  doubted.  He  wrote  from  the  Deanery, 
November  20,  1877,  as  follows : 

'  I  have  been  in  communication  with  the  Bishop  of 
Manchester  about  the  Stone  of  Names.  This  fragment 
contains  what,  if  true,  would  be  fatal  to  its  pretensions. 
Let  lis  not  be  like  the  Antiquary  with  A.  D.  L.  L. ;  but 
I  think  the  informant  must  be  in  error.  I  have  not 
your  book  at  hand,  but  I  remember  S.  T.  C,  and  also 
S.  H.,  D.  W.,  M.  W.,  which  are  surely  beyond  the  reach 
either  of  accident  or  fraud.  Tell  me  what  you  know 
about  the  matter,  and  I  will  press  the  question.  .  .  .' 

The  site  of  the  Rock  of  Names,  described  in  The 
Waggoner  of  Wordsworth,  is  now  sunk  beneath  the 
Manchester  Corporation  reservoir,  and  the  picturesque- 
ness  of  old  Thirlmere  is  a  thing  of  the  past ;  but  before 
its  submergence,  a  few  fragments  of  the  *  upright  mural 
block  of  stone,'  with  its  initial  letters,  were  removed,  and 
carried  up  the  flank  of  Helvellyn,  where  they  are  now 
built  into  a  small  cairn  above  the  present  roadway. 

On  March  31, 1879,  Stanley  visited  Keswick,  and  gave 
a  lecture  on  Southey  to  the  members  of  the  Cumberland 
Association  for  the  Advancement  of  Literature  and 
Science.  It  was  printed  in  the  Transactions  of  that 
Society,  but  nowhere  else ;  and,  as  it  is  not  alluded  to 
in  the  Dean's  memoir,  some  extracts  from  it  may  be 
given  here.  He  spoke  of  the  poems  of  Southey  as  *  his 
earliest  love.'  *  Not  even  the  novels  of  Sir  Walter  Scott 
had,  for  me,  a  keener  attraction.     The  prospect  of  visit- 


158  EETEOSPECTS 

ing  the  scenes  of  any  of  these  poems  filled  me  with 
enthusiasm ;  and  although  in  later  years  that  enthu- 
siasm may  have  cooled  down,  yet  it  was  only  three 
years  ago  that  it  led  me  indirectly  into  making  a  visit 
to  the  otherwise  somewhat  uninviting  kingdom  of 
Portugal,  that  I  might  see  some  of  the  spots  hallowed 
in  my  memory  by  the  closing  scenes  of  Boderick, 
Even  now  I  sometimes  feel  as  if  I  could  not  die  happy 
until  I  had  explored  the  locality  of  the  crisis  of  that 
poem,  "  Covadonga,  in  the  Asturias."  '  ...  He  admitted 
that  Southey  was  *  one  of  those  poets  who  have  now 
fallen  almost  into  oblivion  in  the  great  outside  world. 
Here  and  there  you  meet  with  individuals,  like  myself, 
who  still  cherish  the  flame  he  once  enkindled.  .  .  .  But 
they  are  exceptions,  and  it  is  therefore  instructive  from 
time  to  time  to  recall  the  thoughts  of  this  younger 
generation  to  the  household  gods  of  their  fathers,  and 
to  poems  which  have  retained  a  more  living  popularity, 
where  may  be  seen  traces  of  Southey's  influence.  For 
example,  I  doubt  whether  any  single  poet  has  so  deeply 
coloured  the  phraseology  of  Keble's  Christian  Year  as 
Southey  did.  .  .  .' 

*  Southey  is  the  genius  of  Keswick,  almost  as  exclu- 
sively as  Wordsworth  is  of  Grasmere  and  Rydal,  or  as 
Shakespeare  is  of  Stratford-on-Avon.  His  grave,  his 
monument,  his  house  still  speak  of  him.  .  .  .  The  first 
time  that  I  visited  the  Lakes  was  when  I  was  staying  in 
Grasmere  with  Dr.  Arnold ;  and  rode,  or  walked  over, 
from  it  to  Keswick.  It  was  a  great  disappointment  to 
me,   although   highly   characteristic  of   the  man,  that 


AKTHUK   STANLEY  159 

Dr.  Arnold  was  too  shy  to  give  me  a  letter  of  introduc- 
tion to  the  poet  whom  of  all  others  in  England  I  should 
most  have  wished  to  see.  I  walked,  if  I  remember, 
round  the  outside  of  Greta  Hall ;  but  that  was  the 
nearest  approach  I  ever  made  to  him  in  bodily  presence. 
.  .  .  From  the  abundant  stores  that  his  letters  provide, 
he  remains  a  shining  example  of  a  man  whose  pleasure 
was  found  in  the  simplest,  kindliest,  social  intercourse, 
and  in  the  most  indefatigable  intellectual  activity. 
Such  a  workman  is  an  example  to  us  all,  a  workman 
who  feels  pleasure  in  his  work,  and  his  enjoyment  in 
ministering  to  the  wants  of  others.  He  said  somewhere, 
and  herein  I  quite  agree  with  him,  that  one  of  the 
greatest  of  earthly  pleasures  is  the  correction  of  proof- 
sheet.  An  excellent  Quaker,  who  crossed  the  Atlantic 
with  me  last  autumn,  told  me  that  Southey  had  said  to 
him  (he  was  then  sixty-five),  "  My  motto  through  life 
has  been  *  in  labore  requies.'  "  He  pointed  as  he  spoke 
to  the  sixth  volume  of  the  Acta  Sanctorum,  through 
which  he  was  steadily  plodding,  and  added,  *'  My  only 
sorrow  will  be  when  I  have  reached  the  end."  ... 

*  Thalaba  and  Kehama  have  never  lost  their  hold 
on  those  who  were  once  swayed  by  them.  ...  He  has 
himself  given  the  account  of  their  origin.^  Uncon- 
sciously, perhaps,  he  was  here  treading  on  the  threshold 
of  that  immense  world  of  Keligious  Philosophy,  which 
the  latter  part  of  the  nineteenth  century  has,  for  the 
first  time  in  the  world's  history,  appropriated  to  itself — 
the  region  of  Comparative   Theology,  or  Comparative 

*  See  his  Life  and  Corresi^ondence,  vol.  iii.  p.  351. 


160  EETKOSPECTS 

Eeligion — that  which  in  our  day  has  been  so  powerfully 
set  forth  by  Professor  Max  Miiller.  It  is  a  region  of 
the  greatest  interest  to  scholars  ;  but  it  is  also  a  region 
full  of  the  most  precious  and  useful  instruction  to 
pastors  and  their  flocks  in  the  humblest  walks  of  life, 
because  it  opens  to  us  the  consoling  belief — taught 
indeed  by  the  Apostles,  but  in  the  later  ages  of  Chris- 
tianity almost  entirely  eclipsed — that  the  knowledge 
and  grace  of  God  are  not  confined  to  any  single  church, 
or  any  single  race,  but  may  be  found  wherever  the  heart 
sincerely  turns  towards  whatever  there  is  of  the  best 
and  highest  in  its  own  experience.  ...  In  Thalaba  he 
took  the  one  great  Mahomedan  virtue  of  resignation, 
and  worked  it  out  to  the  full.  In  doing  so,  he  entered 
so  completely  into  the  genius  of  the  Arabian  world  that, 
as  we  read  the  pages  of  Thalaba,  we  seem  to  be  trans- 
ported altogether  beyond  the  range  of  European  thought 
or  European  scenery.  .  .  . 

*  This  day,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  have  pene- 
trated into  Greta  Hall,  and  into  Southey's  library.  It 
was  a  great  satisfaction  to  think  that  in  a  chamber  so 
long  consecrated,  and  the  scene  of  such  indefatigable 
work,  there  should  still  go  on  the  work  of  useful  and 
faithful  instruction.  Not  now  are  the  walls  clad  with 
the  books  that  used  to  clothe  them  as  with  an  everlast- 
ing drapery,  but  I  call  to  mind  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful poems — one  of  the  most  affecting,  because  I  feel  how 
every  word  comes  from  the  poet's  heart.  He  speaks 
about  his  hours  in  that  library,  about  his  hours  amongst 
the  books  of  the  great  and  good,  from  whom  he  learned 


AETHUE   STANLEY  161 

so  much,  and  from  whom  he  also  endeavoured  to  teach 

others. 

My  days  among  the  dead  are  passed ; 

Around  me  I  behold, 
Where'er  these  casual  eyes  are  cast, 

The  mighty  minds  of  old  : 
My  never-failing  friends  are  they. 
With  whom  I  converse  day  by  day.' 

We  had  once  an  interesting  talk  at  the  Deanery  about 
the  high  Alps.  I  had  been  climbing  a  little  in  1873,  and 
someone  had  told  him  of  it.  He  said  he  wished  to  know 
what  was  the  fascination  ;  because  he  never  climbed, 
and  could  not  climb.  He  wanted  to  know  not  so  much 
about  the  peaks  and  passes  or  the  physical  exhilaration 
and  delight  (which  was  easy  to  understand,)  but  about 
the  after-effect  of  it  all  on  the  mind  and  brain.  He 
quite  realised  the  pleasure  of  peril  safely  over-past,  but 
what  did  climbing  leave  behind  it  ?  I  spoke  of  the 
disclosures  of  Nature's  forces  and  glories  ;  but  the  chief 
allurement  was  the  way  in  which  all  the  powers  of 
muscle,  nerve,  and  brain  were  educed,  the  discipline 
of  endeavour,  the  education  in  tact,  resourcefulness, 
patience,  elasticity  of  spirit,  good  temper,  readiness  to 
yield  and  obey,  as  well  as  to  dare.  *  I  suppose,'  he  said, 
*  that  in  mountaineering  you  prove  all  things,  and  hold 
fast  only  that  which  is  good.'  *  Yes,  and  the  physical 
discipline  reacts  on  the  mental,  and  braces  you  for  other 
efforts,  while  the  storehouses  of  memory  are  grandly 
filled.'  He  said  it  was  a  great  delight  to  get  sympatheti- 
cally into  the  heart  of  a  thing  he  could  not  do  himself ; 
but  his  great  delight  had  been  in  travel,  both  in  foreign 


162  KETEOSPECTS 

lands  and  in  our  own.  It  had  done  as  much  for  him  as 
social  life,  or  the  reading  of  books ;  but  *  how  well  they 
intermingle/  he  said. 

Some  members  of  the  Athenaeum  Club  associate  a 
particular  room  with  him.  He  was,  especially  in  later 
years,  so  overwhelmed  by  visitors  at  the  Deanery — where 
he  got  scant  time  to  write  his  sermons — that  he  was 
accustomed  to  retire  for  that  purpose  to  the  Athenaeum ; 
and  there  is  a  special  table  at  which  he  used  to 
write  standing  (as  was  also  his  practice  at  home). 
It  is  one  of  the  numerous  associations  of  that  gathering- 
place  of  interesting  men. 

When  I  went  to  Geneva  in  the  autumn  of  1877, 
to  spend  some  two  months  in  the  city,  Dean  Stanley 
gave  me  introductions  to  many  of  his  own  and  Lady 
Augusta's  friends  amongst  the  Genevese ;  the  De  Can- 
dolles,  Navilles,  Favres,  Pere  Hyacinthe,  &c.  He  said 
that  both  he  and  his  wife  used  to  think  that  Geneva 
circle  the  most  cultivated  and  delightful  in  Europe.  It 
is  not  for  me  to  characterise  it  here,  but  only  to  say 
that  the  inquiries  of  one  and  all  of  them  for  their  friend 
at  Westminster  Abbey  were  perfervid,  and  their  remi- 
niscences of  her  who  had  departed  were  most  radiant 
and  blissful. 

The  rare  refinement  of  Stanley's  face  was  a  sure 
and  certain  index  to  the  refinement  of  the  man.  His 
intellectual  brilliance  and  rapidity,  his  conversational 
charm,  appealed  to  everyone :  but  his  very  countenance 
showed  him  to  be  *  a  child  of  light.'  It  is  easier  far  to 
delineate  him  as  a  religious  historian,  an  essayist  with 


AKTHUK   STANLEY  163 

a  style  that  was  invariably  lit  from  within,  than  it  is 
to  describe  his  character.  The  picturesqueness  of  his 
conversation  can  be  recorded,  but  the  underlying  spring 
of  his  goodness  cannot  be  chronicled.  All  that  his 
friends  can  say  is  this :  He  *  walked  in  the  light,'  and 
he  knew  the  *  fellowship  of  love  below.' 

His  geniality  came  out  conspicuously  in  meeting  and 
conversing  with  the  University  students  of  St.  Andrews, 
when  he  was  their  Lord  Rector.  On  such  occasions 
everyone  ought  to  be  in  the  best  of  humours.  Unfortun- 
ately, this  has  not  always  been  the  case,  in  some  of  our 
Universities ;  and  perhaps  the  rarest  of  successes — rarer 
and  greater  than  any  achievement  in  oratory  or  argu- 
ment— is  the  power  to  compel  regard,  and  respectful 
listening,  even  when  counter-demonstrations  on  the  part 
of  the  supporters  of  a  rival  candidate  for  the  office  are 
made.  *  Rivals  '  had  no  chance  with  this  most  genial 
of  Lord  Rectors,  as  they  had  no  locus  standi  when  the 
election  was  over. 

Other  occasions,  on  which  the  tact  and  bonhomie 
of  the  Dean  and  Lady  Augusta  were  conspicuous,  were 
at  the  small  receptions  in  the  Deanery  after  some 
distinguished  person  had  discoursed  in  the  nave  of  the 
Abbey,  or  its  chapter-house.  When  the  Master  of 
Balliol  or  Principal  Tulloch  preached  in  the  former,  or 
Max  Miiller  spoke  in  the  latter,  old  friends  would  gather 
in  the  Deanery  for  pleasant  talk,  and  the  impression 
left  behind  was  always  radiant  and  benign. 

It  is  also  worth  recording,  as  I  know  not  whether  it 
has  been  done  or  not,  that  Henry  Crabb  Robinson  wrote 

u  2 


164  KETKOSPECTS 

thus  from  Kydal  on  January  30, 1842 :  *  I  learned  from 
Mrs.  Arnold  that  when  Mr.  Stanley,  the  biographer  of  Dr. 
Arnold,  took  orders  in  the  Church,  he  delivered  into  the 
hands  of  his  bishop  (Bishop  Bagot  of  Oxford)  a  protest, 
declaring  his  disbelief  in  the  Athanasian  Creed,  to  which 
no  objection  was  taken.' 

This  is  interesting  in  connection  with  a  contro- 
versy in  which  the  Dean  was  involved  in  later  years, 
when  in  1872  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  introduced 
a  rubric  in  Convocation  which  was  intended  to  explain 
away  the  damnatory  clauses  of  the  creed  without  changing 
them.  The  Dean  opposed  the  proposal  in  ever-memorable 
words :  *  Whoever  was  the  author  '  [of  this  creed],  *  he 
knew  what  he  meant.  He  meant,  as  the  Emperor 
Charlemagne  meant,  that  anyone  who  would  not  accept 
these  words  was  everlastingly  lost,  and  should  be  de- 
stroyed by  sword  and  fire  from  the  face  of  Christen- 
dom. I  admire  the  Emperor  Charlemagne,  but  I  cannot 
admire  those  who  come  with  these  modern  explanations 
to  draw  out  the  teeth  of  this  old  lion,  who  sits  there 
in  his  majesty,  and  defies  any  explanation  to  take  out 
his  fierce  and  savage  fangs.' 

While  the  desire  and  rooted  purpose  of  his  life  was 
to  widen  sympathy  and  to  promote  peace,  he  was  brought 
into  much  controversy.  His  championship  of  Essays 
and  Reviews — both  in  Convocation,  and  in  the  Edin- 
burgh Beview — was  emphatic ;  but  his  defence  of  Bishop 
Colenso  was  still  more  noteworthy.  The  Bishop  of 
Natal  had  come  to  England  to  try  to  obtain  redress  for 
wrong  done  to  a  Zulu  chief ;  and,  as  also  a  lover  of 


AETHUE  STANLEY  165 

peace,  had  declined  the  Dean's  offer  to  him  to  preach 
in  the  Abbey.  At  a  meeting  of  the  Society  for  the  Pro- 
pagation of  the  Gospel,  Stanley  said  boldly :  *  The 
Bishop  of  Natal  is  the  one  colonial  bishop  who  has 
translated  the  Bible  into  the  language  of  the  natives  of 
his  diocese.  He  is  the  one  colonial  bishop  who,  when  he 
believed  a  native  to  be  wronged,  left  his  diocese,  journeyed 
to  London,  and  never  rested  till  he  had  procured  the 
reversal  of  that  wrong.  He  is  the  one  colonial  bishop 
who,  as  soon  as  he  had  done  this,  returned  immediately 
to  his  diocese  and  his  work.  For  these  acts  he  has 
never  received  any  praise,  any  encouragement,  from  this 
the  oldest  of  our  Missionary  Societies.  For  these  deeds 
he  will  be  remembered  when  you  who  censure  him  are 
dead,  buried,  and  forgotten.' 

We  were  speaking  one  day  of  libraries,  and  their 
imperishable  lessons  to  us ;  of  the  mania  of  the 
*  collectors,'  who  never  read  the  books  they  bring 
together ;  of  the  foolish  prices  given  for  *  first  edi- 
tions '  of  books  written  by  great  men  ;  their  second 
and  third  editions  being  much  less  valuable  in  the 
market,  however  much  improved  (as  a  rule)  in  substance 
and  contents  ;  of  the  joy  of  contemplating  a  long  row  of 
volumes  by  men  who  misunderstood  each  other  when 
alive,  who  were  perhaps  ready  to  burn  the  books,  if  not  the 
authors  whom  they  tried  to  tear  to  pieces  by  their  pens, 
now  all  lying  silently  together,  ready  for  dispassionate 
study,  criticism,  cross-examination,  and  the  more  fair- 
minded  judgment  of  posterity.  Stanley  said  it  sometimes 
affected  him  almost  to  tears  (if  he  was  in  a  sympathetic 


166  EETKOSPECTS 

mood),  but  usually  with  profound  thanksgiving,  and  a 
conviction  that  the  verdict  of  time  was  almost  invariably 
just.  He  added  that  there  was  no  place  in  the  world 
where  one  who  was  open  to  such  teaching  could  learn 
more  of  his  own  surpassing  ignorance,  than  in  a  great 
library  ;  and  he  told  me  that  he  went  into  a  great  store- 
house of  mediaeval  books  in  Granada,  and  another  at  the 
Troitza  monastery  near  Moscow,  and  found  that  he  did 
not  previously  know  one  single  volume  on  the  shelves ! 
Was  it  not  humiliating  ?  And  yet  the  many  lessons  such 
an  experience  taught  were  most  salutary. 

The  Dean  had  no  great  appreciation  of  landscape 
beauty.  It  was  the  historic  associations  that  surrounded 
or  invested  places,  the  incidents  once  transacted  there, 
that  appealed  to  him  almost  exclusively.  And  in  con- 
nection with  his  interest  in  famous  places  because  of 
famous  men,  and  the  world  of  emotion  awakened  by  his 
first  visit  to  them,  it  is  easy  to  understand  his  indif- 
ference to  a  second  visit,  unless  it  was  to  correct  some 
erroneous  impression  left  by  the  first.  He  could  not 
experience  over  again  his  earlier  feelings  of  delight ;  and 
the  later  inspection  was  to  satisfy  historical  curiosity, 
not  for  the  reawakening  of  enthusiasm  when  the  dead 
bones  of  history  came  to  life  again.  It  is  not  true  to 
say  (as  some  one  has  done)  *  that  he  never  cared  to  see 
the  same  place  twice ' :  but  it  is  quite  true  that 
*  although  it  was  a  rainy  day  when  he  first  saw  the  plain 
of  Marathon,  he  preferred  to  let  that  visit  be  his  last.' 

Dr.  Martineau  wrote  to  me,  on  the  10th  of  August, 
1881 :  .  .  .  *  The   death  of   Dean   Stanley  still  weighs 


AETHUK  STANLEY  167 

heavily  on  my  heart.  His  departure  closes  a  memorable 
chapter  in  the  history  of  English  Keligion,  and  in  the 
social  life  of  London ;  for  the  system  of  relations  that 
centred  in  him  can  never  be  reproduced.  A  note  was 
found  upon  his  desk  addressed  to  me,  the  last  that  he 
wrote,  dated  July  17,  the  day  before  his  death.  It 
referred  to  Tulloch,  about  whom  he  had  again  written 
to  Dr.  Kamsay.' 

Later  on  Martineau  wrote  to  me : 

...  *  With  him  the  greatest  personal  power  I  have 
ever  known  has  passed  from  us.  The  loss  to  London  in 
particular  is  something  quite  unique.  .  .  .' 

No  finer  tribute  to  Arthur  Stanley  has  been  borne 
than  that  of  his  life-long  friend,  and  fellow-labourer  for 
the  true  and  the  good,  Matthew  Arnold,  two  stanzas  of 
whose  elegy  I  may  quote  in  conclusion — 

What  1  for  a  term  so  scant 

Our  shining  visitant 
Cheer'd  us,  and  now  is  pass'd  into  the  night  ? 

Could'st  thou  no  better  keep,  O  Abbey  old, 

The  boon  thy  dedication- sign  foretold, 
The  presence  of  that  gracious  inmate,  light  ? 

A  child  of  light  appear'd ; 
Hither  he  came,  late-born  and  long-desired, 

And  to  men's  hearts  this  ancient  place  endear'd 
What,  is  the  happy  glow  so  soon  expired  ? 


Yet  in  this  latter  time 

The  promise  of  the  prime 
Seem'd  to  come  true  at  last,  O  Abbey  old ! 

It  seem'd  a  child  of  light  did  bring  the  dower 

Foreshown  thee  in  thy  consecration-hour 
And  in  thy  courts  his  shining  freight  unroU'd ; 


168  KETEOSPECTS 

Bright  wits  and  instinct  sure, 
And  goodness  warm,  and  truth  without  alloy, 

And  temper  sweet,  and  love  of  all  things  pure, 
And  joy  in  light,  and  power  to  spread  the  joy. 


Dean  Stanley  in  Dundee  :  Apeil  2,  1875. 

He  said : 

*  The  subject  on  which  I  propose  to  speak  is  "  The 
Mutual  Relations  of  Religion,  Science,  and  Literature." 
In  dealing  with  this  somewhat  abstruse  subject  I  have 
thought  it  best,  partly  for  my  own  convenience,  partly 
for  your  pleasure,  to  place  it  before  you  in  a  concrete 
form.  Great  ideas  and  great  doctrines,  and  the  mutual 
relation  of  these  doctrines,  are  best  understood,  or  at 
any  rate  best  appreciated,  when  they  appear  before  us 
in  flesh  and  blood.  I  propose,  therefore,  to  select  as 
examples  of  Theology,  Science,  and  Literature,  three 
great  men,  who  were  a  few  years  ago  accidentally  brought 
into  mutual  relationship  by  the  fact  that  their  three 
anniversaries  were  celebrated  in  their  three  respective 
countries  almost  at  the  same  time,  viz.  Calvin,  Galileo, 
and  Shakespeare.  There  are  two  advantages  in  this  se- 
lection, besides  the  coincidence  of  their  death  and  birth. 
First,  that,  more  perhaps  than  any  other  three  names 
I  could  take,  they  have  such  universal  fame  that  they 
need  no  explanation  and  no  introduction  ;  secondly,  that 
they  are  so  far  removed  from  us  by  time  and  country 
that  we  can  treat  of  them  without  involving  ourselves  in 


AETHUK  STANLEY  169 

the  personal  and  party  feelings  which  the  names  of  three 
contemporaries,  or  three  Scotsmen,  however  eminent, 
could  hardly  fail  to  excite. 

*  It  is  my  intention  to  speak  of  these  great  men  as  the 
representatives  of  Theology,  Science,  and  Literature, 
chiefly  with  the  view  of  showing  the  relation  in  which 
all  the  three  stand  to  the  religious  and  moral 
advancement  of  mankind,  which  is  the  one  point 
that  unites  together  these  three  great  branches  of 
thought. 

*I  speak  first  of  Calvin,  the  French  and  Swiss 
reformer.  The  death  of  Calvin  occurred  on  May  27, 
1564.  As  the  sun  set  in  the  evening  over  the  hills  above 
Geneva,  his  friends  observed  that  the  great  light  of  their 
city  set  also.  It  was  no  wonder.  I  said  at  the  opening 
of  this  lecture  that  I  selected  him  as  a  fitting  ex- 
emplification of  theology,  but  to  those  who  lived  in 
his  own  time  he  was  more  than  this.  Whilst  he  lived, 
and  for  a  hundred  years  after  his  death,  there  was  no 
theologian  in  Protestant  Europe  whose  name  could  be 
compared  with  his,  for  weight  and  authority.  It  was 
an  argument  in  itself.  Far  more  than  Luther,  or 
Melanchthon,  or  Zwinglius,  he  was  the  theologian  of  the 
Eeformation.  Geneva  is  the  only  city  in  Europe  besides 
Eome  that  has  a  religious  ecclesiastical  sound  in  its 
very  name.  In  the  library  of  the  aged  French  historian 
M.  Guizot  there  were  two  great  pictures  side  by  side 
to  which  he  used  to  point  as  representing  the  two 
ecclesiastical  centres  of  Europe.  One  was  Eome,  the 
other  was  Geneva. 


170  EETKOSPECTS 

*  Whatever  theology  sprang  up  in  Great  Britain  at 
that  time  came  straight  from  Calvin.  The  English 
Puritans  and  Nonconformists,  the  Presbyterians  of 
Scotland,  whether  Established  or  Free  or  United,  all  owe 
their  existence  more  or  less  to  Calvin.  And  not  only  so, 
there  was  no  single  person  then  out  of  our  own  country, 
hardly  within  our  own  country,  who  had  so  great  an 
influence  on  the  teaching  of  the  Church  of  England, 
when  it  first  began  its  new  career.  "  It  is  safer,"  said 
Eichard  Hooker — himself  in  some  respects  a  far  greater 
writer  than  Calvin — "  to  attack  all  the  saints  in  heaven 
than  to  say  a  word  against  John  Calvin." 

*  The  first  reflection  which  this  statement  of  Calvin's 
fame  suggests  is  this — that  the  fame  is  no  longer  what 
it  was.  By  the  time  that  the  tercentenary  of  Calvin 
came  to  be  celebrated,  ten  years  ago,  it  was  evident  that 
a  change  had  passed  over  the  face  both  of  the  world  and 
of  the  Church.  The  work  of  Erasmus,  the  great  scholar 
of  his  time,  is  still  living  in  the  impulse  he  gave  to  the 
study  of  the  Bible,  and  in  his  large  and  liberal  ideas  of 
Christianity.  Luther's  name  is  still  powerful,  as  that  of 
a  man  of  commanding  genius,  and  as  the  mainspring 
of  the  Keformation.  But  neither  in  France,  of  which 
Calvin  was  a  most  characteristic  son  as  regards  logical 
directness  and  clearness  of  expression,  nor  in  Geneva, 
of  which  he  was  the  father,  nor  even  in  Scotland,  of 
which  through  Knox  he  may  be  said  to  have  been  the 
spiritual  grandfather — and  in  which  the  form  of  his 
theology  has  longest  endured — ^not  even  in  any  of  these 
countries,  and  still  less  in   Europe  generally,  has  the 


AKTHUE  STANLEY  171 

magic  of  the  great  name  of  Calvin  maintained  what  was 
in  his  lifetime  its  undisputed  pre-eminence.  What  is 
the  reason  of  this  change  of  feeling  ?  It  is  that  Calvin 
threw  his  whole  strength  into  one  particular  phase  of 
Christian  belief  and  of  Christian  practice.  He  saw 
straight  before  him,  but  only  in  one  direction.  He  was 
the  most  splendid  of  partisans,  but  still  a  partisan. 

*  He  was  the  founder  of  a  particular  school  of  belief. 
He  was  not  the  promoter  of  truth,  and  goodness,  for 
their  own  sake.  This  is  the  first  lesson  which  we 
draw  from  Calvin's  appearance — and  which  will  be 
strengthened  as  we  proceed — the  temporary  passing 
nature  of  mere  party  polemics.  Think  of  any  mere 
political  or  ecclesiastical  leader  at  the  present  moment. 
He  cannot  fill  your  thoughts  more  than  Calvin  filled 
the  minds  of  English,  Scottish,  French,  and  Swiss 
Protestants  in  the  sixteenth  century.  But  he  has  now 
stepped  into  the  background.  Even  in  theology — the 
greatest  of  all  subjects  of  human  thought — the  day  of 
favourity  party  leaders  will  not  last  for  ever.  The 
controversies  which  now  seem  so  full  of  importance  will, 
three  hundred  years  hence,  be  laid  fast  to  sleep. 

*  But  it  would  be  doing  great  injustice  to  Calvin  and 
to  ourselves,  and  it  would  be  to  miss  one  main  part  of 
the  lesson  which  his  appearance  teaches  us,  if  we  did  not 
acknowledge  the  lasting  benefits  we  owe  to  him.  I  am 
not  now  speaking  of  the  great  ability,  and  the  candour 
and  good  sense,  of  his  Commentaries;  because  these 
have  been  superseded  by  greater  works  of  the  same 
kind,  and  were  not  peculiar  to  himself  even  at  that  time. 


172  EETEOSPECTS 

I  confine  myself  to  two  points  in  which  he  stands  pre- 
eminent. 

*  The  first  which  I  shall  notice  is  the  truth  contained 
in  his  doctrines.  Nothing  is  more  useful  for  men  who 
are  educating  themselves,  nothing  more  profitable  for 
theological  study,  than  to  endeavour  to  find  out  what  is 
the  truth  that  lies  at  the  bottom  of  doctrines  or  opinions 
with  which,  as  commonly  expressed,  we  feel  ourselves 
constrained  to  disagree.  Such  is  the  case  with  the  doc- 
trine of  Predestination,  which  is  at  the  root  of  all  that 
is  peculiar  to  what  we  call  Calvinism.  There  has  been 
so  much  exaggeration,  so  much  folly  talked  concerning 
it,  that  we  are  sometimes  inclined  to  think  of  it  as  a 
thing  altogether  passed  by.  But  the  truth  itself  which 
it  was  intended  to  convey  is  one  which  will  never  be 
lost  to  the  world.  It  is  this  ;  that  there  is  an  overruling 
Providence  which  guides  our  steps  in  life,  without  our 
perceiving  it ;  that  there  is  a  Power  greater  than  our- 
selves, without  which  we  cannot  move  or  act ;  that  this 
Providence  leads  us  through  mysterious  paths  to  our 
very  highest  good ;  that  whatever  is  good  or  excellent, 
in  ourselves  or  others,  comes  from  this  higher  Power. 

*  This  is  the  true  doctrine  of  Predestination  -a  doc- 
trine which  may  become  mere  fatalism,  but  which  in 
itself  is  perfectly  certain,  and  most  important.  We 
must  add  other  doctrines  to  it,  to  make  it  wholesome 
and  useful,  but  this  doctrine  must  be  added  to  them ; 
and  the  merit  of  Calvin  is,  that  though  he  may  have 
pushed  it  to  excess,  yet  he  helped  to  preserve  it  in  the 
world,  and  hand  it  on  to  us.    We  may  remember  that  a 


AKTHUE   STANLEY  173 

great  writer  of  our  own  time — the  greatest  of  living 
Scottish  authors,  but  as  unlike  Calvin  as  it  is  possible 
to  conceive — has  recorded  solemnly  that  this  doctrine 
of  Predestination,  so  understood,  is  in  his  judgment 
unquestionably  and  indispensably  necessary.  Thomas 
Carlyle,  in  his  History  of  Frederick  the  Great,  said 
this  meant — and  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart  Calvin  also 
meant— to  tell  us  that  we  are  all,  and  each  of  us,  instru- 
ments in  the  hands  of  the  Supreme  Good  for  working 
out  his  will — links  in  the  chain  of  a  long-enduring 
Providence — with  a  work  before  us  to  do,  for  the  sake 
of  doing  which  each  one  of  us  was  sent  into  the  world. 

*  There  is  a  second  element  in  Calvin's  teaching  which 
ought  to  be  considered  in  connection  with  any  form  of 
theology  that  claims  to  be  enduring — viz.  what  is  its  moral 
and  practical  result  ?  I  shall  not  dwell  on  its  results  in 
the  moral  life  of  England,  and  still  less  of  Scotland, 
partly  for  the  reason  1  have  already  hinted,  that  I  desire 
on  this  occasion  to  avoid  approaching  too  closely  to  local 
questions ;  partly  because  this  was  treated  at  length 
some  years  ago  in  an  address  delivered  in  this  neigh- 
bourhood by  a  distinguished  historian,  Mr.  Froude. 
But  the  point  to  which  I  would  call  attention — because 
it  is  not  so  much  thought  of,  and  because  it  is  in  itself 
so  clear  an  evidence  of  what  a  great  theologian  can  do 
— is  this,  that  Calvin  founded  in  the  city  and  State  of 
Geneva  a  habitation  of  morality  and  of  liberty  combined, 
which  has  lasted  there  even  to  our  own  day.  Here 
again,  no  doubt,  there  was  excess  and  exaggeration ; 
he  was  too   austere,  too  rigid,  too  uncompromising ;  but 


174  EETEOSPECTS 

nevertheless  he  did  contrive,  by  the  sole  force  of  his 
example  and  discipline,  to  create  in  that  little  town  a 
society  so  pure,  and  so  respectable,  that  all  the  nations 
of  Europe  sent  their  sons  there  to  be  educated.  Nothing 
could  be  a  higher  tribute  to  him  and  to  Geneva  than  the 
fact  that  Lord  Chesterfield  chose  Geneva  for  his  son  in 
preference  to  Paris,  or  Florence,  or  any  of  the  fashion- 
able cities  of  Europe,  because  there  more  than  anywhere 
else  a  young  man  was  likely  to  be  brought  up  without 
falling  in  with  the  common  temptations  of  youth. 

*  And,  with  this  good  morality,  there  was  also  instilled 
by  Calvin  into  the  people  of  Geneva  an  independence,  a 
freedom  of  thought,  which  through  all  manner  of  changes 
has  continued,  and  has  rendered  Geneva  a  refuge  for 
intelligent  and  enlightened  men  from  every  country, 
who  could  find  no  other  home  so  congenial  or  so  safe. 
Through  Calvin's  influence  many  a  young  man  of  the 
first  families  of  Europe  has  been  saved  in  a  most  critical 
period  of  his  life  ;  many  a  parent  has  thus  been  spared 
a  broken  heart.  Through  Calvin's  influence,  also,  many 
a  noble  spirit  has  there  breathed  freely  and  indepen- 
dently, who  would  not  have  had  a  place  elsewhere  on 
the  Continent  open  to  run  for  shelter.  It  is  true  he 
burned  Servetus.  It  is  the  one  blot  which  is  recorded 
against  the  Keformers  by  many  who  forget  the  acts  of 
the  same  kind,  far  more  numerous,  which  tarnish  the 
fame  of  the  Koman  Church  in  England,  Spain,  France, 
and  Italy. 

*  But  it  is  the  glory  of  Calvin  that,  in  spite  of  this 
miserable  act,  the  general  spirit  which  he  infused  into 


AKTHUR   STANLEY  175 

Geneva  made  it — what  it  has  been  for  th6  last  two 
hundred  years,  and  is  still — the  most  intelligent  city 
in  Europe,  the  shelter  of  the  oppressed,  the  school  of  just 
and  free  thought.  And,  although  Calvin  could  hardly 
recognise  his  own  city,  were  he  to  come  back ;  this  is 
only  an  instance  of  the  gracious  truth  that  any  good 
influence  which  we  shed  abroad  may  have  its  fruits  in 
ways  we  cannot  conceive  beforehand,  and  which  perhaps 
did  we  know,  we  in  our  weakness  would  deprecate. 

*  This  leads  me  to  pass  to  those  other  two  great  men 
whose  anniversaries  were  celebrated  in  Italy  and  Eng- 
land, at  the  same  time  that  Calvin's  death  was  celebrated 
at  Geneva.  When  on  May  27,  1564,  Calvin  passed  from 
the  midst  of  his  sorrowing  followers,  he  would  have 
been  surprised  at  hearing  that  already  there  were  born 
— one  sixty,  one  thirty  days  before — two  men  whose  fame 
would  outshine  his  as  far  as  the  skies  are  above  the  earth, 
and  as  the  whole  earth  is  wider  than  any  single  sect  or 
party.  Yet  so  it  was.  Calvin,  I  say,  would  have  been 
startled  to  hear  that  the  time  would  come  when  a  pro- 
fessor of  Mathematics,  or  a  writer  of  Plays,  should  be 
thought  more  of  than  he,  the  theologian  of  half  Chris- 
tendom. Yet  even  he,  if  he  were  true  to  his  own  doc- 
trines, would  have  acknowledged,  or  ought  to  have 
acknowledged,  in  words  which  no  doubt  he  often  quoted, 
that  every  good  and  perfect  gift,  everything  in  propor- 
tion as  it  is  good  or  perfect,  comes  down  direct  from  the 
Father  of  Lights.  They  all  come  from  the  Father  of 
those  innumerable  lights  which  we  see  in  the  starry 
heaven,  and  of  the  innumerable  lights  which  enlighten 


176  EETKOSPECTS 

the  minds  of  men ;  which  themselves  indeed  both  in 
heaven  and  earth  are  subject  to  change,  eclipse,  and 
shadow,  but  are  not  the  less  the  good  gifts  of  him  "  with 
whom  there  is  no  variableness,  neither  shadow  of  turning." 

*  In  the  most  literal  sense,  the  two  great  men  of 
whom  I  am  now  to  speak  are  exact  illustrations  of  this 
very  truth.  It  has  been  said  by  one  of  the  greatest  of 
modern  philosophers,  Immanuel  Kant,  **  There  are  two 
things  of  which  the  more  we  think  of  them  the  more 
they  fill  the  soul  with  awe  and  wonder ;  the  starry 
heaven  above,  the  moral  law  within."  These  are  them- 
selves two  of  the  greatest  gifts  that  the  Father  of  Lights 
has  given  us.  They  are  ever  with  us  ;  the  lights  in  the 
heaven  above,  the  lights  in  the  human  soul.  But,  like 
many  other  gifts,  they  have  to  be  studied,  in  order  to 
be  known,  appreciated,  enjoyed.  They  are  gifts  which 
need  interpreters  to  explain  their  meaning,  to  draw  forth 
their  beauties,  and  fix  our  attention  upon  them. 

*  Two  such  interpreters,  each  perfect  for  this  special 
purpose,  were  by  a  singular  coincidence  born  into  the 
world  in  that  same  year  of  1564  in  which  Calvin  died  ; 
one,  an  interpreter  for  all  future  time  of  the  stars  of 
heaven,  Galileo,  the  father  of  astronomy,  on  February  18, 
at  Pisa ;  the  other,  the  interpreter  for  all  future  ages 
of  human  nature,  our  own  Shakespeare,  on  April  23, 
at  Stratford-on-Avon.  Of  these  two,  I  will  first  speak 
of  Galileo.  In  his  case  as  in  Calvin's  I  leave  on  one 
side  the  direct  benefits  of  his  scientific  discoveries.  They 
belong  either  to  learned  men,  or  else  to  the  particu- 
lar professions  who  have  profited  by  them.     I  confine 


AETHUK  STANLEY  177 

myself,  as  before,  to  those  matters  which  are  common 
to  all  educated  men — in  other  words,  the  moral  and 
religious  benejfits  of  Galileo's  appearance,  which  bring 
Theology  into  relation  with  Science,  and  Science  into 
relation  with  Theology. 

*  Put  yourselves  back  to  that  time,  and  ask  what  has 
been  the  advantage  to  religious  progress  that  would, 
humanly  speaking,  not  have  been  gained  if  Galileo  had 
not  lived  ?  To  him,  as  you  know,  it  is  owing  that  we 
have  our  present  knowledge  of  the  stars,  of  the  relations 
of  this  earth  to  the  solar  system,  of  the  sizes,  the 
distances,  the  motions  of  those  innumerable  heavenly 
bodies.  Now,  it  is  certain  that  by  revealing  to  us  the 
vast  infinity  of  space  he  revealed  to  us,  in  a  sense  in 
which  it  was  never  understood  before,  the  infinity  of  the 
Universe,  and,  therefore,  the  infinity  of  God.  The 
immeasurable  nature  of  God  is  a  doctrine  which  had,  in 
a  certain  sense,  been  known  before,  but  it  received  an 
enlargement,  an  extension  far  beyond  conception,  when 
for  the  first  time  mankind  was  made  to  feel  that  the 
stars  were  not  mere  spangles  in  the  sky,  but  worlds  like 
our  own,  that  the  distance  between  them  was  to  be 
counted  not  by  thousands,  but  by  millions  and  millions 
of  miles.  The  order,  the  intelligence,  the  supreme  will 
which  guides  all  these  vast  systems  then  became  known 
to  man,  as  they  had  never  been  known  to  him  before.  But 
this  scientific  knowledge,  unlike  the  special  peculiarities 
of  Calvin's  theological  system,  has  never  passed  away, 
but  has  gone  on  increasing  and  fructifying  in  every 
succeeding  age.     In  the  same  year  that  Galileo  died 


178  EETEOSPECTS 

Newton  was  born,  and  by  him  the  work  of  scientific  truth 
was  handed  on  with  increasing  lustre  to  our  own  time. 
That  is  the  first  point  gained  by  Eeligion  from  Galileo. 

*The  second  is  the  triumph  of  faith  over  sight,  of 
reason  over  prejudice.  Think  what  a  difficulty  there 
must  have  been  in  receiving  the  truths  which  Galileo 
announced.  All  the  world  down  to  that  time  had 
believed  that  the  earth  stood  still,  that  the  sun  moved 
round  the  earth,  that  the  sun  rose  up  in  the  heavens 
and  set  behind  the  earth.  All  the  evidence  of  our 
senses,  all  the  testimony  of  human  language,  all  the 
authority  of  immemorial  tradition,  all  the  belief  of  every 
Church,  the  letter  of  the  Bible  itself,  was  dead  against 
the  new  discovery.  On  the  other  side  there  was  but  the 
opinion  of  one  gifted  man  appealing  to  the  results  of  his 
researches.  But  the  opinion  of  that  one  gifted  man, 
resting  on  the  certain  facts  which  he  had  seen,  and 
which  no  one  else  had  seen,  has  prevailed  against  the 
habits  and  prejudices  and  traditions  of  the  whole  world. 
What  a  lesson  of  humility  does  this  teach  us !  of 
humility  and  deference  to  the  authority  of  the  really 
just  and  true  !  What  a  warning  to  us  to  set  aside  as  good 
for  nothing  the  Authority  which  is  only  external !  What 
an  example  of  the  power  of  truth  over  obstacles  which 
might  have  seemed  quite  insurmountable  !  What  an 
encouragement  to  those  who,  whether  few  or  many,  are 
engaged  in  the  pursuit  of  truth  in  any  department  of 
knowledge,  human  or  divine  ! 

*  And  yet  one  more  benefit  Galileo  has  conferred  upon 
us  by  the  particular  way  in  which  this  triumph  of  his 


AETHUE   STANLEY  179 

opinion  was  achieved.  When  he  discovered  for  the  first 
time  that  the  common  impression  of  the  sun  rising  and 
setting  was  contrary  to  fact — when  he  discovered  that  it 
was  the  sun  which  stands  still,  and  the  earth  which 
moves — a  thrill  of  horror  ran  through  Christendom,  at 
the  contradiction  of  these  statements  with  the  letter  of 
Scripture.  All  the  alarms  which  have  since  been  raised 
against  the  advance  of  Science  were  raised  then.  All 
the  efforts  which  have  since  been  used  to  maintain  the 
letter  of  Scripture  at  the  cost  of  its  spirit  were  used 
then.  Most  sincere  and  natural,  no  doubt,  this  alarm 
was.  But  we  know,  thank  God,  that  it  was  unfounded, 
and  so  have  been  all  like  alarms  since.  In  the  person 
of  Galileo  the  battle  was  fought,  and  won.  He  was  put 
down  for  a  time,  but  his  system  prevailed,  and  has 
become  the  law  of  Christendom.  The  cause  of  religion 
has  not  lost,  but  gained  by  the  triumph  of  the  cause  of 
science.  In  this  way  Galileo  not  only  enlarged  for  us 
our  ideas  of  God  and  the  Universe,  but  also  enlarged  for 
us  our  idea  of  the  Bible.  As  he  raised  our  thoughts  of 
God  to  a  wider  range  than  ever  they  had  reached  before, 
so  he  helped  to  raise  the  Bible  to  a  higher  pinnacle  than 
it  had  ever  reached  before.  It  was  then  established 
once  for  all  that  the  Bible  was  intended  to  teach  us  far 
higher  things  than  mere  physical  science.  It  was  then 
proved  once  for  all  that  discoveries  in  the  world  of 
Nature,  however  important  or  contradictory  to  the  letter 
of  Scriptm-e,  however  positive,  have  no  connection 
whatever  with  the  essence  of  true  religion.  It  was 
acknowledged  then  by  the  most  distinguished  pillars  of 

N   2 


180  EETEOSPECTS 

the  Church  that  what  the  Bible  teaches  was  not  how 
the  heavens  moved,  but  how  we  are  to  move  to  heaven. 

*  The  Bible  has  gained,  not  lost,  by  being  disencumbered 
of  the  false  theory  which  fastened  it  to  false  systems  of 
philosophy.  It  has  survived  the  discoveries  of  Galileo. 
It  has  survived,  what  is  perhaps  still  more  extraordinary, 
the  follies  of  those  who  persecuted  Galileo ;  and  we  may 
be  sure  that  it  will  survive  all  the  conclusions  of  science, 
and  the  blindness  of  those  who  resist  these  conclusions. 
Galileo  was  imprisoned  and  tortured  for  his  opinions. 
His  opinion  was  declared  to  be  heresy.  Even  one 
hundred  years  later  the  Jesuits,  in  their  great  edition  of 
Newton's  Prmcipia,  were  obliged  to  say  that  they  could 
not  venture  to  accept  his  opinion  as  true,  because  it  had 
been  solemnly  condemned  by  the  Pope.  But  now  even 
the  Pope  and  the  Jesuits  have  given  way,  and  one  of  the 
best  observatories  of  Europe,  where  Galileo's  principles 
are  carried  out  with  the  best  success,  is  the  observatory 
of  Father  Secchi  in  the  Jesuit  College  at  Eome.  We 
may  be  sure  that  from  the  gift  which  God  gave  to  us  in 
the  mind  of  Galileo,  and  in  the  stars  whose  true  nature 
Galileo  revealed  to  us,  Christianity  derives  a  brighter, 
wider,  better  light ;  and  as  each  age  rolls  on,  and  each 
discovery  enlightens  our  eyes,  it  becomes  more  and  more 
worthy  of  the  Father  of  Lights,  more  and  more  the  light 
of  all  mankind. 

*  One  further  remark  on  Galileo's  life  connects  him 
directly  with  our  own  country,  and  gives  another  proof  of 
the  true,  though  indirect,  relation  between  Science  and 
Literature.    In  one  of  the  finest  of  Milton's  prose  works 


AETHUK   STANLEY  181 

— his  speech  in  defence  of  the  Liberty  of  the  Press — he 
describes  how  in  his  youth  he  had  seen  the  great 
astronomer  at  Florence :  "  There  it  was  that  I  found  and 
visited  the  famous  Galileo,  grown  old,  a  prisoner  in  the 
Inquisition  for  thinking  in  Astronomy  otherwise  than 
the  Franciscans  and  Dominicans  thought."  It  is  one  of 
the  most  striking  scenes  in  literary  history.  The  old 
blind  Italian  philosopher,  victim  to  a  dark  persecution, 
received  the  young  English  poet,  full  of  hope  and 
enthusiasm  ;  himself  destined  in  after  years  to  share 
the  same  calamity,  the  loss  of  the  gift  of  eyesight,  and 
also  to  be  regarded  by  his  contemporaries  as  an  outcast 
and  a  heretic.  We  know  that  in  those  dreary  years  of 
blindness,  and  of  ignominy,  he  never  forgot  his  visit 
to  Galileo.  In  Paradise  Lost  he  dwells  on  the 
wonders  which  the  telescope  had  revealed  from  the  top 
of  Fiesole ;  and  we  cannot  doubt  that  this  recollection 
must  have  been  one  of  those  which  gave  him  courage  to 
abate  no  jot  of  heart  or  hope,  as  he  trod  his  lonely  path 
towards  the  heights  of  everlasting  fame.  I  have  spoken 
of  the  succession  of  scientific  light  from  the  occurrence  of 
Newton's  birth  in  the  year  of  Galileo's  death.  But  this 
glimpse  which  the  great  poet  gained  into  the  mind  of 
the  great  astronomer  by  that  short  visit,  this  stimulus 
which  it  gave  him  to  become  the  champion  of  spiritual 
and  intellectual  freedom,  is  a  yet  more  direct  instance 
of  the  succession  of  gifted  men  on  the  largest  scale. 
It  shows  that  Science  is  not  so  far  removed  from  Poetry, 
nor  Poetry  from  Science,  as  in  this  scientific  age  one 
is  sometimes  apt  to  imagine. 


182  EETEOSPECTS 

*  And  this  leads  me  to  the  third  illustrious  name  of 
which  I  have  to  speak.  In  the  same  year  as  Galileo 
died,  1564,  was  born  the  greatest  of  all  poets,  William 
Shakespeare.  Again,  I  do  not  dwell  on  the  mere 
pleasure  or  instruction  we  receive  from  his  writings. 
I  do  not  enter  into  a  criticism  of  his  several  plays. 
This  you  can  read,  far  better  than  I  could  expound,  in 
Dr.  Johnson  or  in  Coleridge.  What  I  propose  to  ask  is, 
what  is  the  moral  value  of  such  a  man  to  his  country, 
and  to  the  world  ?  What  was  the  relation  of  Literature 
as  represented  in  this  the  greatest  name  of  all  Litera- 
ture towards  Theology  and  Eeligion  ?  The  j&rst  benefit 
is  the  fact  that  he  was,  as  I  have  already  said,  the 
acknowledged  interpreter  of  human  nature.  It  is  for 
this  that  we  admire  him,  that  we  read  him,  that  we 
place  him  on  a  height  above  all  other  poets  of  any  age 
or  nation.  And  if  we  ask:  what  is  the  use  of  this 
thought  to  us,  as  reasonable  religious  human  beings  ? 
the  answer  is  this.  It  teaches  us  that  the  study  and 
knowledge  of  human  nature  are  indispensable  to  our 
doing  our  duty,  and  fulfilling  our  appointed  work  in 
this  world.  It  has  been  sometimes  said  that  there  are 
large  classes  of  men  who  by  their  professions  are  shut 
out  from  anything  but  a  partial  view  of  human  nature ; 
that  the  clergy  see  the  weak  side  of  it,  lawyers  chiefly 
the  dark  side  of  it,  physicians — it  is  sometimes  said — 
see  more  than  any  other  class.  But  here,  at  any  rate, 
was  a  man  who  was  endowed  with  an  insight  into  every 
part  of  it.  There  is  hardly  a  shade  of  feeling,  hardly  a 
human  thought,  scarcely  a  phase  of  character,  which  he 


AETHUE   STANLEY  183 

has  not  weighed,  and  balanced,  and  represented  before 
us.  Our  admiration  of  such  a  gift  is  a  testimony  to 
the  vast  importance  of  that  highest  kind  of  theology, 
which  consists  of  insight  into  and  understanding  of  the 
varieties  of  human  nature.  It  is  a  living  comment — a 
host  of  comments— on  the  text :  "  Judge  not,  and  ye  shall 
not  be  judged."  It  is  a  thorough  working  out  of  the 
text :  "  Judge  righteous  judgment."  It  is  a  carrying  out 
of  the  counsel  "  not  to  pull  up  the  tares,  lest  in  pulling 
up  the  tares  we  pull  up  the  wheat  also."  It  is  a  justi- 
fication of  the  divine  charity  which  "  bears  all  things, 
believes  all  things,  endures  all  things."  It  is  an  example 
of  the  apostolical  wisdom  "  which  becomes  all  things  to 
all  men."  It  is  a  call  to  toleration,  to  forbearance,  to 
compassion,  to  forgiveness.  These  are  the  truly  evan- 
gelical lessons,  these  are  the  truly  apostolical  maxims 
which — whether  we  will  or  not — the  writings  of  Shake- 
speare teach  us. 

*  This  is  the  ample,  sufficient  reason  why  we,  who 
have  to  deal  with  human  nature  as  it  is,  should  be 
thankful  for  the  gift  of  this  wonderful  understanding ; 
all  human  nature  in  the  mind  of  this  one  man.  If  in 
the  Bible  we  have  been  rightly  taught  the  value  of  the 
human  soul,  then  ought  we  greatly  to  appreciate  one 
who  has  so  carefully  detailed  all  the  workings  of  the 
soul,  which  in  ourselves  and  in  others  it  is  our  duty  to 
elevate.  If  we  are  right  in  our  admiration  of  Shake- 
speare, then  we  cannot  suiSiciently  prize  the  largeness  of 
heart,  and  breadth  of  mind,  and  keenness  of  sight,  which 
give  his  works  their  characteristic  value.     We  sometimes 


184  EETEOSPECTS 

hear  people  speak  disparagingly  of  Theology  and  theo- 
logians. Perhaps  in  the  sense  in  which  those  words 
are  commonly  used  this  disparagement  is  not  unjust. 
We  have  already  shown  in  what  sense  it  is  true  even 
of  such  an  eminent  theologian  as  Calvin ;  but,  if  the 
word  "  theologian  "  is  used  in  its  true  sense — as  one  who 
sets  forth  the  nature  of  God,  and  the  duties  of  man — 
then,  in  that  sense,  our  highest  poets  have  been  amongst 
our  best  theologians.  He  who  has  described  the  misery 
of  jealousy  in  Othello,  the  madness  of  ambition  in 
Macbeth,  the  grandeur  of  mercy  in  The  Merchant  of 
Venice,  the  innocence  of  purity  in  The  Tempest,  the 
nobleness  of  patriotism  in  Henry  V.,  and  the  per- 
plexities of  the  troubled  soul  in  Hamlet,  has  left  to 
the  world  religious  lessons  far  better  than  those  of 
many  a  preacher  ;  because  he  has  given  them  in  words 
so  persuasive,  so  marvellous,  that  they  are  read  by 
hundreds  whom  sermons  never  reach,  and  whom  tracts 
will  never  touch.  There  is  much  idle  talk  in  the  present 
day  about  secular  and  religious  education.  Is  there  one 
who  will  venture  to  shut  out  from  any  scheme  of 
education  the  writings  of  Milton  or  Shakespeare  ?  Is 
there  one  who  is  able  to  say  that  the  writings  of  Milton 
or  Shakespeare  are  not  in  the  highest  sense  religious, 
if  by  religious  we  mean  that  which  gives  a  higher 
and  wider  idea  of  the  nature  of  God,  a  deeper  and 
clearer  insight  into  the  nature  of  man  7    No  ! 

*  In  proportion  as  we  are  fed  by  the  greatest  writers, 
we  rise  above  religious  difficulty,  into  the  most  religious 
atmosphere  of  all.    And  this  leads  me  to  speak  of  one 


AETHUE  STANLEY  186 

more  general  lesson  to  be  derived  from  the  greatness  of 
Shakespeare  amid  the  imperfections  and  infirmities  with 
which  doubtless  his  individual  life  was  compassed.  It 
is  this.  We  often  ask  in  these  days  about  any  remark- 
able person  we  meet  or  hear  of,  what  were  his  opinions  ? 
to  what  religious  denomination,  to  what  political  party 
did  he  belong  ?  Would  he  have  voted  with  us,  on  this 
or  that  question,  political  or  theological  ?  What  colours 
did  he  wear  at  the  last  election,  or  in  chapel  ?  We  ask 
this  question  of  ordinary  men,  and  we  often  get  an  easy 
answer.  We  can  range  many  of  them  without  difficulty 
on  one  side  or  the  other.  We  can  even  aver  about 
such  great  men  as  Calvin  or  Galileo,  that  Calvin  was 
a  Protestant  of  very  peculiar  opinions,  and  that  Galileo 
was  a  Koman  Catholic,  and  in  some  respects  compro- 
mised his  opinion  in  order  to  keep  well  with  his  Church. 
But  we  make  these  inquiries  about  Shakespeare  in  vain. 
Others  abide  our  questions  :  He  is  free.  We  see  that 
he  had  a  deep  sense  of  the  awfulness  and  greatness  of 
God,  of  the  tender  and  soothing  influences  of  the 
Christian  faith.  We  see  that  the  words  of  the  Bible 
were  most  familiar  to  him — that  the  sights  and  sounds 
of  religious  ordinances  had  a  hold  upon  him.  But  more 
than  this  we  know  not.  We  ask  whether  he  was  a 
Eoman  Catholic  or  a  Protestant  ?  whether  he  was  a 
Calvinist  or  an  Arminian?  whether  he  was  a  Puritan 
or  a  High  Churchman  ?  We  ask,  but  we  ask  in  vain. 
Some  of  his  expressions  lean  to  one  side,  some  to 
another,  but  the  whole  result  is  that  this  greatest  of 
human   teachers,   the  wisest   and  greatest  of    human 


186  KETKOSPECTS 

writers,  is  certainly  above  and  beyond  all  those  party 
distinctions  ;  that  he  who  of  all  men  knew  most  of 
human  nature  cannot,  without  manifest  absurdity,  be 
classed  with  any  single  religious  division  of  any  kind 
whatsoever. 

*  From  the  fact  that  he  was  married  and  buried  in  the 
parish  church  of  Stratford-on-Avon,  we  may  infer  that 
he  belonged  to  the  National  Church  of  England.  It  is 
one  of  the  excellences  of  a  national  Church  that  a  spirit 
like  Shakespeare  can  belong  to  it,  without  being  com- 
pelled to  answer  any  question  or  to  enrol  himself  under 
any  flag.  It  was  in  Shakespeare's  time  a  Church  which 
embraced  all  Englishmen,  and  in  this  best  and  highest 
sense  of  the  word,  and  in  this  sense  only,  he  was  an 
English  Churchman.  But  I  repeat  that  of  his  particular 
opinions  this  tells  us  nothing.  And  the  fact  that  this 
is  so,  and  that  we  notwithstanding  bear  with  him  and 
admire  him,  is  a  standing  proof  to  us  that  these  distinc- 
tions are  not  so  important  as  many  endeavour  to  make 
them,  that  the  highest  ideal  of  the  Church,  of  a  National 
Church,  is  that  which  takes  no  heed  of  them.  There 
will,  we  trust,  be  a  time  hereafter  when  they  will  vanish 
away  altogether.  But  there  are  times  even  now  when, 
in  the  highest  and  greatest  minds,  they  have  vanished 
altogether  here.  Eead  the  lesson  which  the  life  and 
works  of  Shakespeare  teach,  and  even  to  the  humblest 
amongst  us  he  will  have  lived  to  some  purpose. 

*  Study  human  nature— study,  observe,  consult  it — 
in  all  its  various  moods  of  light  and  shade,  of  joy  and 
sorrow,  of  weakness  and  strength,  of  success  and  failure : 


AKTHUE  STANLEY  187 

study  it,  bear  with  it,  make  allowances  for  it ;  because 
only  in  so  doing  can  you  be  of  service  to  it  in  others,  or 
in  yourselves.  Study  it  in  all  its  phases,  study  it  either 
in  itself  or  in  Shakespeare's  works,  study  it  in  the  tragic 
sorrows  of  King  Lear,  in  the  remorse  of  Macbeth  and 
Othello,  in  the  deep  philosophy  of  Hamlet,  in  the 
playfulness  of  the  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  in  the 
innocent  love  of  Bomeo  and  Juliet,  in  the  calm 
religious  resignation  of  -4s  You  Like  It,  in  the  justice 
and  mercy  of  Measure  for  Measure.  He  takes  you 
through  many  countries.  He  breathes  the  keen  air  of 
Denmark  in  Hamlet,  and  the  majesty  of  Eoman 
history  in  Julius  Ccesar,  the  grand  sweep  of 
English  history  in  King  John  and  Bichard  II, 
and  Henry  V.,  the  sunny  atmosphere  of  Italy  in 
Bomeo  and  Juliet,  and  the  gay  life  of  Greece  in  the 
Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  the  wild  life  of  early 
Britain  in  King  Lear,  and  in  the  blasted  heath,  the 
fierce  chiefs,  the  haunted  houses,  and  fantastic  witch- 
craft of  Scotland  in  Macbeth.  It  is  from  such  a  large 
view  of  human  nature  that  we  all  gain  common  sense, 
common  charity,  and  deeper  faith.  We  shall  not  be 
the  worse  but  the  better  Christians  if  by  this  means 
we  are  raised  above  those  artificial  boundaries  which 
divide  man  from  man,  nation  from  nation,  party  from 
party,  into  a  wider  region  of  human  sympathy ;  if  we 
can  attain  that  true  communion  of  the  wise,  in  which 
every  good  and  perfect  gift  finds  its  proper  place  ;  where 
the  main  object  is  not  to  level  to  the  ground  high 
characters  or  to  pull  down  high  Institutions,  but  to  use 


188  BETEOSPECTS 

them,   understand   them,   improve    them  to  the  very 
utmost. 

*  We  thus  come  back  to  the  general  subject  with  which 
we  started,  and  ask  what  those  great  characters  have 
told  us  of  the  mutual  relations  of  the  three  orders  of 
knowledge  which  they  respectively  represent.  The  main 
result  surely  is  that  they  form  one  whole.  Theology 
still  remains  the  Queen  of  the  Sciences  and  Arts,  as  she 
was  supposed  to  be  in  the  Middle  Ages.  But  it  must  be 
by  welcoming  the  fact  that  both  science  and  literature 
are  themselves  essential  elements  of  theology,  as  theology 
is  of  them.  There  is  a  literary  side  and  a  scientific  side 
of  theology,  to  be  conducted  on  scientific  principles  and 
literary  principles,  as  also  in  all  true  science  and  in  all 
high  literature  there  is  a  religious  side ;  for  the  pursuit 
of  truth  is  religious,  and  so  is  the  appreciation  of  the 
noble  and  the  beautiful.  And  thus  the  domain  of 
religion  must  be  enlarged  by  every  acquisition  of 
scientific  light,  and  by  every  ingathering  of  literary 
fruit.  There  will  always  be  a  separate  branch  of 
theological  research,  a  separate  branch  of  scientific 
research,  and  a  separate  branch  of  literary  labour; 
but  no  less  there  will  always  be  the  need  of  some- 
thing to  reconcile,  combine,  and  identify  these.  There 
must  be  the  means  of  passing  and  repassing  across  the 
boundaries  between  them.  And  this  neutral  ground, 
this  uniting  ground,  will  be  found  in  such  great  minds 
as  those  whom  I  have  described,  if  taken  at  their  best 
and  their  highest,  and  not  at  their  worst  and  lowest. 
Taken  at  their  lowest,  Calvin  was  but  a  violent  polemic, 


AETHUE   STANLEY  189 

and  Galileo  but  a  timid  and  half-hearted  student,  and 
Shakespeare  but  an  obscure  stage-player ;  but  taken  at 
their  best,  each  one  of  them  was  a  philosopher,  poet, 
or  theologian. 

*  The  other  day  I  saw  it  stated  that  at  the  tercen- 
tenary of  the  famous  University  of  Ley  den  an  orator 
expressed  amongst  other  things  his  confident  belief  that 
theology  was  doomed  to  rapid  extinction — that  its  fall 
was  demanded  with  inexorable  rigour,  and  that  none 
would  lament  that  fall.  I  would  not  disparage  anything 
that  proceeds  from  a  University  of  such  name  and  fame 
as  Leyden  ;  but  I  confess  that  so  crude  a  declaration 
carries  its  own  confutation  with  it.  Such  statements 
might  fill  us  with  alarm  as  to  the  higher  and  deeper 
thoughts  of  humanity,  if  we  did  not  see  from  the  terms 
of  the  expressions  used  by  the  speakers  that  they  often 
mean  the  very  reverse  of  what  they  express,  that  they 
mean  only  the  fall  of  a  theology  which  they  dislike,  and 
the  rise  in  its  place  of  some  other  theology  which  they 
desire ;  and  that  they  believe — rightly,  or  wrongly — that 
Science,  Literature,  and  the  State  have  lights  to  furnish 
of  a  better  kind  than  that  which  theologians  and  churches 
have  furnished  before.  In  Mr.  Lecky's  admirable  book 
on  the  History  of  Bationalism  you  may  remember 
that  there  is  a  chapter  called  the  "  Secularisation  of 
Politics  "  ;  and  at  first  sight  it  might  seem  that,  like  the 
Dutch  orator,  he  was  intending  to  prove  that  politics, 
and  all  that  is  included  in  that  word,  were  all  to  be 
removed  from  the  influence  of  religion ;  but  when  you 
find  that  what  he  means  is  simply  that  the  course  of 


190  EETKOSPECTS 

European  politics  has  been  purged  and  purified  from 
the  rancour,  persecution  and  inhumanity,  perfidy  and 
cruelty  of  the  Thirty  Years'  War,  and  the  massacre  of 
St.  Bartholomew  ;  that  commerce  has  been  set  free  from 
the  superstitious  restrictions  on  usury ;  and  social  life 
delivered  from  the  insane  superstitions  concerning  witch- 
craft, then  we  may  fairly  say  that  the  tendency  is  not 
the  secularisation,  but  the  Christianisation  of  politics. 
Therefore,  the  result  of  all  such  harsh  and  exaggerated 
statements  as  that  I  have  quoted  just  now  is,  to  any 
reflecting  and  high-minded  man,  not  to  endeavour  to 
divorce  science  from  religion,  or  the  Church  from  the 
State,  but  to  endeavour  to  infuse  into  religion  whatever 
truth  there  is  in  science,  and  to  endeavour  to  infuse  into 
the  Church  whatever  there  is  of  grandeur  and  elevation 
in  the  State. 

*  And  I  may  add  that  it  is  in  fulfilling  these  functions 
that  not  only  such  great  men  as  I  have  described,  but 
also  ancient  and  famous  Universities,  and  University 
influences  such  as  give  a  name  to  your  Club,  are  so 
useful ;  it  is  because  the  Universities  of  Europe,  amidst 
whatever  imperfections  they  contain — it  is  because  the 
University  of  Oxford,  in  which,  as  you  have  heard, 
I  first  became  acquainted  with  your  excellent  chairman, 
my  dear  and  early  friend.  Principal  Shairp — it  is  because 
the  Universities  of  Scotland,  amid  all  the  distractions 
and  divisions  of  this  country,  have  furnished,  and  do 
furnish  still,  a  neutral,  central,  and  elevated  ground, 
where  the  different  Churches  and  diverging  classes  can 
be  drawn  together  and  aspire  towards  higher  things, 


AETHUK  STANLEY  191 

that  they  deserve  all  the  support  and  all  the  forbearance 
that  can  be  given  them.     As  the  poet  says, 

Beauty,  Good,  and  Knowledge  are  three  sisters 
That  dote  upon  each  other,  friends  to  man, 
Living  together  under  the  same  roof. 
And  never  can  be  sundered  without  tears. 

'And  if  for  one  passing  moment  I  may  speak 
of  what  I  may  now  fairly  call  my  own  University  of 
St.  Andrews,  before  you — the  generous,  energetic,  and 
aspiring  citizens  of  Dundee— allow  me  to  say  that  no 
better  exemplification  could  be  given  of  the  principle 
which  I  have  been  endeavouring  to  enforce  than  the 
relation  between  the  two  places.  They  are  exemplified, 
I  might  also  say  visibly,  to  the  outward  eye  as  in  a 
parable.  What  is  the  barrier  that  divides  them  ? 
Listen  to  my  parable.  The  first  answer  is  very  simple. 
It  is  the  river  Tay.  And  what  is  the  means  of  uniting 
them  ?  It  is  by  the  bridge  which  shall  in  a  few  years 
turn  Fifeshire  from  an  island  into  the  mainland.  But 
the  Tay  is  not,  or  was  not  in  the  olden  time,  the  only 
dividing  boundary.  When  yesterday  from  the  heights 
of  Magus  Moor,  from  the  beautiful  grounds  of  Mount 
Melville,  I  overlooked  the  plains  of  Fifeshire  and  Forfar- 
shire, I  saw  two  streams  parting  the  towers  of  St. 
Andrews  from  the  smoke  of  Dundee.  One,  as  I  have 
said,  was  the  Tay ;  and  the  other  was  the  river  Eden. 
But  in  the  Middle  Ages  the  smaller  gulf,  impassable  as  it 
may  have  seemed,  was  crossed  by  the  bridge — which  was 
then  the  marvel  of  Scotland — the  bridge  built  by  Bishop 
Wardlaw,  the  founder  of  the  University  of  St.  Andrews. 


192  KETKOSPECTS 

*  That  union  which  seemed  then  so  difficult  ought  to 
prepare  us  for  the  union,  which  is  now  not  more  difficult 
in  the  bridge  over  the  greater  gulf  which  still  remains. 
What  the  science  of  the  fifteenth  century  effected  across 
the  Eden  the  science  of  the  nineteenth  century  is  to 
effect  across  the  Tay.  Is  not  all  this  a  transparent 
allegory  of  the  subject  of  which  we  have  been  speaking, 
and  of  some  of  the  questions  which  naturally  have 
arisen  amongst  ourselves  ?  A  bridge,  whether  over  the 
Tay  or  over  the  Eden,  is  an  emblem  of  the  moral  bonds 
of  union,  whether  in  the  great  world  or  in  our  smaller 
world  at  home;  and  in  making  and  increasing  these 
moral  bonds  it  is  surely  the  privilege  of  the  wisdom 
and  the  charity  of  the  nineteenth  century  to  effect  the 
combination  which  the  charity  and  wisdom  of  the  Middle 
Ages  most  imperfectly  effected  in  the  fifteenth  century, 
whether  as  regards  the  relations  between  the  academic 
community  of  Dundee,  or  as  regards  the  larger  elements 
of  Eeligion,  Science,  and  Literature.* 

Since  this  chapter  was  written  I  have — through  the 
kindness  of  the  present  Dean  of  Westminster — seen  and 
examined  the  MS.  which  his  predecessor  had  with  him 
in  Dundee.  It  was  originally  prepared  for  another 
purpose,  but  I  have  no  knowledge,  and  now  no  means 
of  finding  out,  to  what  audience  it  was  first  addressed. 
As  given  at  Dundee  it  was  recast,  and  considerably 
enlarged. 


193 


MATTHEW  ARNOLD 

We,   the  English  men  and  women  of  the   twentieth 

century,  are  so  much  indebted  to  Matthew  Arnold — 

for  his  poetry,  his  literary  criticism,  and   his   letters 

posthumously  published — that  we  fain  would  gather  up 

every  fragment  of  reminiscence  that  remains  of  him, 

*  that  none  of  them  may  be  lost.' 

As  one  of  his  predecessors  in  the  poetical  hierarchy 

put  it. 

His  very  memory  is  fiair  and  bright, 

and  there  was  a  charm  in  his  personality  that  was  all 
his  own,  and  is  singularly  radiant  still.  The  deftest 
of  critics,  a  chivalrous  appraiser  of  merit,  a  satirist  who 
was  humorist  at  heart  and  who  never  sent  a  barbed 
arrow  from  his  bow,  brave  and  patient,  assiduous  in  the 
discharge  of  irksome  duties,  most  loyal  of  friends,  and 
generous  in  kindliest  deeds. 

Insight  as  keen  as  frosty  star 
Was  to  his  charity  no  bar, 

while  reverence  dominated  his  nature  from  first  to  last. 

His  reiterated  message  of  *  sweetness  and  light,'  his 
constant  demand  for  *  lucidity,'  his  insistence  on  *  culture 
as  the  sovereign  panacea  alike  for  our  *  Philistines,  Bar- 
barians and  Populace,'  his  substitution  of  the  *  stream 

I.  o 


194  EETEOSPECTS 

of  tendency '  and  the  *  not-ourselves  that  makes  for 
righteousness,'  in  place  of  what  he  thought  were  the 
superannuated  terms  of  ancestral  religion — all  this 
raised  a  barrier  between  him  and  many  other  men ;  but 
even  they  must  admit  that,  in  his  polemic  he  aimed 
always  at  the  truth  of  things,  and  that  in  all  of  it  he  was 
constructive. 

His  poems  may  have  taught  his  generation  more 
than  his  prose  essays  have  done,  and  their  appreciation 
in  America  has  been  signal.  They  are  perhaps  more 
widely  read,  and  highly  valued  across  the  Atlantic  than 
in  England. 

The  few  letters  from  Arnold  which  follow  refer 
chiefly  to  Wordsworth,  and  to  the  Wordsworth  Society. 
We  once  had  a  talk  about  Thy r sis.  He  said  that  when 
he  wrote  it,  he  doubted  whether  it  would  be  popular, 
however  genuine  it  was  as  an  idyllic  elegy.  It  was 
less  complete  as  a  memorial  of  Clough  than  Bughy 
Chapel  was  of  his  father,  or  than  his  lines  on  Words- 
worth were  of  him.  It  dealt  with  only  one  side  of 
Clough's  nature.  Some  time  afterwards,  when  I  was 
writing  Principal  Shairp's  Life  his  widow  sent  me  a 
letter  from  Arnold  to  her  husband,  dated  April  1866 — 
soon  after  Thyrsis  appeared — embodying  the  same 
thought. 

Arnold  was  asked  to  allow  himself  to  be  nominated 
for  the  St.  Andrews  Lord  Eectorship  in  1877.  He 
declined  on  the  ground  that,  in  his  opinion,  his  posi- 
tion as  a  school-inspector  disqualified  him  for  suitably 
filling  the  post.    He  thought  that  one  who  held  office 


MATTHEW  AENOLD  195 

in  the  public  service  of  the  country  ought  not  also  to 
hold  *  that  post  of  high  dignity.'  He  added,  *  The 
department  which  I  serve  has  always  left  me  perfect 
freedom  in  my  literary  publications.  In  return  I 
consider  myself  bound  to  abstain  from  all  appearances 
on  the  stage  of  public  life  ;  and  your  Eector,  in  making 
his  address,  must  certainly  be  considered  as  appearing 
on  the  stage.' 

We  at  St.  Andrews,  professors  and  students  alike, 
thought  that  a  mistake  on  his  part.  There  was  nothing 
in  his  official  position,  any  more  than  in  that  of  a 
member  of  Parliament  or  a  Judge,  to  prevent  his  accept- 
ance of  the  Rectorship.  He  would  have  been  received 
with  enthusiasm,  and  would  certainly  have  given  a 
brilliant  and  luminous  address.  The  loss  was  to  St. 
Andrews,  and  to  Scotland. 

Arnold's  life  was  uneventful,  but  perhaps  all  the 
richer  on  that  account.  Once,  at  a  dinner  of  old 
Balliol  men,  he  spoke  of  himself  as  *  an  instance  of  a 
Balliol  failure  in  life.'  It  need  hardly  be  said  that  as 
poet,  critic,  essayist,  his  success  had  been  greater  than 
that  of  anyone  present,  and  his  own  judgment  was 
disallowed.  The  failure  was  only  in  receiving  the  due 
rewards  of  authorship.  It  has  been  the  lot  of  many  of 
our  greatest  writers  to  have  a  routine  of  drudgery  to  go 
through,  and  it  is  a  lasting  tribute  to  Arnold  that  he 
never  grudged  it,  but  discharged  the  humblest  duties  of 
school-inspector  with  as  much  care  and  assiduity  as  he 
spent  upon  his  literary  work. 

There  was  one  characteristic  of  Matthew  Arnold 

o2 


196  EETKOSPECTS 

which  all  who  knew  him  understood  and  appreciated. 
It  was  his  determination  to  get  at  the  root  and  truth 
of  things  underneath  the  shows  which  are  commonly 
wrapped  around  them,  and  the  illusions  which  are  so 
constantly  mistaken  for  them.  This  was  in  curious 
alliance  with  a  dislike  for  what  he  considered  the  dimness 
of  metaphysic,  and  indifference  to  the  bald  obviousness 
of  science :  but  there  was  coupled  with  it  a  still  greater 
dislike  of  all  irreverence  towards  the  beliefs  and  the  in- 
stitutions of  the  past.  He  wished  to  rouse  his  contem- 
poraries out  of  facile  credence,  and  contentment  with 
commonplaces  that  were  the  superficial  makeshifts  of 
belief ;  but  none  of  them  had  a  more  intense  feeling  of 
the  seriousness  of  life,  and  the  grave  issues  of  conduct. 
He  wished  to  see  them  rest  in  a  religion  that  was  based 
on  fact,  not  underpropped  by  conjecture.  To  attain  to 
a  lucid  belief,  and  one  that  could  be  verified,  was  his  con- 
stant aim  ;  and  yet  he  would  rather  leave  everything  as 
he  found  it,  than  have  religion  discarded,  or  emptied  of 
all  significance,  by  a  criticism  that  was  purely  negative 
I  remember,  and  can  now  hear,  his  musical  quotation  of 
the  lines, 

Leave  thou  thy  sister  when  she  prays, 
Her  early  Heaven,  her  happy  views ; 
Nor  thou  with  shadow'd  hint  confuse 

A  Hfe  that  leads  melodious  days. 

Arnold  was  not  a  great  speaker,  or  a  good  reader ; 
but  I  have  been  told  that  when  he  went  to  lecture  in 
America,  and  was  at  first  almost  inaudible  beyond  the 
front-row  benches,  one  of  his  auditors  called  on  him, 
and  offered  to  teach  him  *  the  art  of  public  speaking ' ! 


MATTHEW  AKNOLD  197 

He  was  amused,  but  took  the  hint,  and  submitted  to  a 
few  *  lessons,'  with  the  result  that  he  was  soon  heard 
throughout  most  lecture-halls. 

The  mention  of  America  recalls  his  popularity  there 
as  a  poet.  In  Boston  I  found  that  many  cultivated  men 
and  women  ranked  him  as  chief  in  the  modern  English 
hierarchy  of  song.  It  was  a  group  of  Americans  also 
who  principally  welcomed  the  reading  of  part  of  his 
Empedocles  on  Etna  one  day  within  the  Graeco-Boman 
theatre  of  Taormina  in  Sicily. 

The  following  are  extracts  from  a  few  of  his  letters 
to  me. 

♦  AthensBum  Club,  Pall  Mall,  S.W. :  July  12,  1879. 

* .  .  .  There  is  plenty  of  room  for  all  of  us  as  recom- 
menders  of  Wordsworth,  and  it  would  have  been  indeed 
a  pity  if  you  had  withheld  your  book  about  him,  or  any 
part  of  it.  I  hope  to  return  to  it,  when  I  am  in  the 
North  this  autumn.  It  is  a  book  to  be  read  in  Words- 
worth's own  country. 

*  *  *  #  # 

*  P.S. — The  paper  in  Macmillan  is  to  serve  as  preface 
to  a  volume  of  selections  from  Wordsworth  which  I  have 
in  the  press.  It  is  not  an  elaborate  criticism  of  Words- 
worth's poetry,  but  the  sort  of  essay  which  seemed  to  me 
best  calculated  to  introduce,  and  help,  such  a  volume.  You 
must  read  it  with  this  view  of  its  character  and  design.' 

A  second  time  our  students  at  St.  Andrews  tried  to 
induce  him  to  become  Rector,  a  new  generation  of  them 
endeavouring  to  secure  the  honour  previously  declined. 


198  KETEOSPECTS 

He  replied : 

*  Cobham,  Surrey:  April  4,  1883. 

*  ...  I  have  answered  an  Edinburgh  Association, 
as  to  my  being  brought  forward  for  the  Lord  Kectorship 
there,  but  I  am  resolved  not  to  be  a  candidate  for  that 
office  while  I  am  a  school-inspector,  or  a  subordinate 
public  official  of  any  sort.  I  have  formerly  said  the 
same  thing  in  answer  to  proposals  from  St.  Andrews, 
and  you  would  do  me  a  kindness  if  you  would  assure  my 
friends  there  that,  though  I  am  grateful  to  them  for  their 
good  opinion,  my  resolution  remains  quite  firm.' 

The  following  has  reference  to  the  meeting  of  the 
Wordsworth  Society,  of  which  he  was  President  in  1883  : 

'  Cobham,  Surrey :  April  28. 

*  Two  papers  will  be  plenty ;  a  paper  from  the  Pre- 
sident besides  would  be  too  much,  and  I  think  the 
President  should  speah,  not  read,  I  will  try  to  make 
a  speech  of  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  in  length,  to  open 
the  proceedings  .  .  . ' 

He  was  asked  his  opinion  as  to  the  Stanzas 
written  in  my  pocket  copy  of  Thomson's  *  Castle  of 
Indolence '  in  which  Wordsworth  describes  Coleridge 
and  himself ;  there  being  some  difference  of  opinion  as 
to  the  relevancy  of  the  *  descriptive  sketches  '  contained 
in  them.    He  replied  : 

*  Cobham,  Surrey :  May  26. 

*  When  one  looks  uneasily  at  a  poem  it  is  easy  to 
fidget  oneself  further,  and  neither  the  Wordsworth  nor 
the  Coleridge  of  our  common  notions  seems  to  be  hit  off 


MATTHEW  AENOLD  199 

in  the  Stanzas  ;  still,  I  believe  that  the  first  described 
is  Wordsworth,  and  that  the  second  described  is  Coleridge. 
I  have  myself  heard  Wordsworth  speak  of  his  prolonged, 
exhausting  wanderings  among  the  hills.  Then  Miss 
Fen  wick's  note  shows  that  Coleridge  is  certainly  one  of 
the  two  personages  of  the  poem,  and  there  are  points  in 
the  description  of  the  second  man  which  suit  him  very 
well.  The  profound  forehead  is  a  touch  akin  to  the 
god-like  forehead  in  the  mention  of  Coleridge  in  a  later 
poem. 

*  I  have  a  sort  of  recollection  of  having  heard  some- 
thing about  the  "  inventions  rare,"  and  Coleridge  is 
certain  to  have  dabbled,  at  one  time  or  other,  in  Natural 
Philosophy. 

*  I  could  have  wished,  handicapped  as  I  am  (I  write 
this  while  the  Epsom  races  are  going  on)  with  official 
work,  to  keep  clear  of  all  literary  societies,  but  it  seemed 
ungracious  to  refuse  the  nomination  you  speak  of,  and 
it  is  a  long  time  to  next  May.' 

'  Athenaeum  Club,  Pall  Mall,  S.W. :  April  29,  1884. 

*  I  cannot  possibly  be  at  the  meeting  on  the  8th,  but 
I  assure  you  that  Lord  Coleridge,  if  you  can  get  him, 
will  be  a  far  better  introducer  of  Mr.  Lowell  than  I 
could  be.' 


'  Fairy  Hill,  Swansea :  September  29, 1884. 
*.  .  .  Never  to  have   seen   St.  Andrews  is  a   real 
shortcoming,  and  I  wish  I  could  have   accepted  your 
kind  invitation  ;    I  was  in  Haddingtonshire  the  other 


200  KETKOSPECTS 

day,  and  looking  across  towards  your  University,  but 
there  was  no  one  there  then  ! ' 


*  AthensBum  Club,  Pall  Mall,  S.W. :  October  6, 1884. 

*  Your  kind  invitation  reached  me  in  the  ends  of  South 
Wales.  I  at  once  answered  it  to  say  that  my  days  in 
Scotland  would  be  few,  as  my  schools  here  will  be  wanting 
me  back,  and  that  I  had  engaged  myself  to  stay  with 
Lord  Dalhousie  during  my  Dundee  visit.  I  wrote  to 
Braemar,  but  put  to  he  forwarded  on  the  letter.  I  wish 
I  could  come  to  you,  but  it  is  impossible.' 

***** 

'  Cobham,  Surrey :  November  17,  1886. 

*  I  shall  be  much  interested  in  seeing  your  Selection, 
but  I  am  not  inclined  to  return  to  the  criticism  of  our 
dear  Poet,  and  I  am  sure  it  is  better  that,  in  the  volume 
now  in  question,  I  should  not.' 

***** 

*  November  19,  1886. 

* ...  I  am  touched  by  what  you  tell  me  of  dear  old 
Shairp.  He  had  come  to  look  upon  me  as  a  very  lost 
sheep,  so  his  fidelity  to  my  verse  is  the  more  sweet  in 

him.' 

***** 

'  Athenasum  Club,  Pall  Mall :  July  20, 1887. 

'  Mrs.  Shairp  or  her  son  wrote  to  me  some  time  ago 

asking  me  to  give  my  remembrances  of  my  old  friend  in 

the  form  of  a  letter,  to  be  used  in  his  Life ;  and   I 

answered,  as  I  must  answer  now,  and  as  I  have  also 


MATTHEW  AKNOLD  201 

answered  in  the  case  of  a  like  application  concerning 
Theodore  Walrond,  that  it  does  not  come  natural  to  me 
to  speak  of  my  dead  friends  in  this  fashion,  and  that 
what  one  does  not  do  naturally  one  never  does  well. 
Some  day  or  other,  and  in  some  manner,  I  should  like 
to  say  a  word  or  two  about  both  Shairp  and  Walrond, 
for  each  of  whom  I  had  a  sincere  affection ;  but  when 
I  shall  feel  able  to  do  it,  or  how,  I  cannot  say. 

*  I  am  very  glad  you  are  preparing  a  memoir  of  Shairp ; 
he  was  not  only  a  lovable  man  in  the  time  when  I 
knew  him  best,  but  a  very  stimulative  and  inspiring  one.' 

#  ♦  ♦  #  * 

*  Pains  Hill  Cottage,  Cobham,  Surrey  :  November  4,  1887. 

*  In  writing  the  life  of  Wordsworth  you  are  filling  a 
real  gap.  I  looked  at  his  nephew's  two  volumes  again 
in  the  summer ;  they  are  impossible.' 

In  his  conversation,  as  well  as  his  writings,  the  eulogy 
of  Geist  came  out,  and  his  constant  demand  for  lucidity 
as  the  outcome  of  insight.  He  held  that  intellectual 
discernment,  purified  mental  vision,  led  of  necessity  to 
lucid  statement  as  to  the  reasons  of  things  ;  and  the 
two  together — adequate  knowledge,  on  the  one  hand,  and 
its  expression  *  clare  et  distincte '  on  the  other — gave 
both  strength  and  quietude,  and  were  the  key  to  progress. 

Soon  after  Matthew  Arnold's  death  a  few  of  his 
friends  thought  that  funds  should  be  raised  for  a 
memorial  to  him  in  the  form  of  a  medallion  or  bust, 
and — if  the  subscriptions  warranted  it — the  founding 
of  an  Arnold    scholarship    or   lectureship   at    Oxford. 


202  KETKOSPECTS 

A  preliminary  meeting — largely  attended — was  held  in 
the  Jerusalem  Chamber  at  Westminster  Abbey,  and  a 
committee  elected  to  promote  the  objects  aimed  at.  The 
first  thing  the  committee  tried  was  to  find  out  whether 
anything  could  be  done,  through  the  Treasury,  to  obtain  a 
pension  for  Mrs.  Arnold,  in  recognition  of  her  husband's 
contributions  to  Literature,  and  his  services  to  the  State 
as  school-inspector.  As  this  unfortunately  failed.  Chief 
Justice  Coleridge,  who  was  chairman  of  the  committee, 
convened  a  meeting  in  his  room  at  the  Law  Courts,  to 
consider  what  should  be  done,  and  afterwards  addressed 
the  following  letter  to  the  Times,  on  June  25,  1888 : 

*  The  Matthew  Arnold  Memorial. 

*  Sir, — The  many  friends  and  admirers  of  Mr. 
Matthew  Arnold  have  delayed  till  now  taking  any  active 
steps  to  collect  subscriptions,  in  accordance  with  the 
resolutions  passed  at  the  meeting  held  in  the  Jerusalem 
Chamber.  They  were  desirous  first  to  ascertain  whether 
any  and  what  recognition  of  Mr.  Arnold's  great  services 
to  the  State  and  to  English  Literature,  in  the  form  of  a 
pension  to  his  widow,  would  be  granted  by  the  First  Lord 
of  the  Treasury.  The  answer  to  two  memorials,  signed 
without  distinction  of  party  by  a  large  number  of  the 
most  prominent  men  in  the  country,  has  just  been 
received,  to  the  effect  that  Mr.  Smith  can  do  nothing. 
Such  an  answer  to  such  memorials — an  answer  based 
chiefly,  though  not  exclusively,  on  want  of  precedent — is 
somewhat  unexpected  by  those  of  us  whose  memories  go 


MATTHEW  AKNOLD  203 

back  for  twenty-five  or  thirty  years,  and  will  not,  perhaps, 
be  altogether  satisfying  to  those  who  appreciate  the  very 
remarkable  qualities  of  the  distinguished  man  for  whose 
memory  this  recognition  was  requested.  It  renders,  how- 
ever, prompt  action  necessary  on  the  part  of  his  friends. 

*  A  meeting,  to  which  all  the  committee  were  sum- 
moned, was  accordingly  held  on  Wednesday  last,  at  my 
room  in  the  Law  Courts — the  Earl  of  Derby  in  the  chair. 
The  meeting  was  attended  by  Lord  Lingen,  Lord  Justice 
Bowen,  Mr.  Lushington,  Mr.  Cumin,  Mr.  Fyffe,  Mr 
Hutton,  Professor  Knight,  Mr.  G.  Murray  Smith,  Mr 
George  Kussell  (the  honorary  secretary),  and  myself. 

*  The  following  minute  was  passed,  and  will  be 
advertised  and  circulated,  for  the  information  of  those 
who  may  desire  to  contribute  towards  keeping  alive  the 
memory  of  one  of  the  noblest  and  most  interesting 
characters  of  our  time.  The  reply  of  Mr.  Smith  makes 
it,  in  our  opinion,  desirable  to  postpone — at  least  for  the 
present — that  part  of  the  scheme  shadowed  forth  in  the 
Jerusalem  Chamber  which  relates  to  Oxford. 

*I  subjoin  the  minute:  "The  appropriation  of  the 
funds  obtained  cannot  be  absolutely  determined  at 
present,  but  it  is  desired  by  the  committee,  in  the  first 
instance,  to  place  in  Westminster  Abbey  a  Medallion 
or  Bust,  as  may  be  found  most  convenient ;  next,  to 
make  adequate  provision  for  Mrs.  Arnold :  lastly,  after 
providing  for  the  foregoing  objects  (should  the  funds 
obtained  be  sufficient)  to  found  at  Oxford  an  Arnold 
Scholarship  or  Lectureship,  with  a  view  to  promote  the 
study  of  English  Literature.    It  is  estimated  that  the 


204  KETKOSPECTS 

cost  of  the  Medallion  or  Bust  will  not  exceed  5001. 
including  all  attendant  expenses. 

*  Coleridge.' 

A  bust  was  made  by  Mr.  Bruce  Joy,  who  was  chosen 
out  of  several  competitors  to  execute  it,  and  was  placed 
in  the  Baptistery  of  Westminster  Abbey.  The  residue  of 
the  fund — which  amounted  in  all  to  6,OO0Z. — was  handed 
over  to  Mrs.  Arnold,  who  sent  a  portion  of  it  to  Oxford 
for  the  establishment  of  a  prize,  to  be  called  the 
*  Matthew  Arnold  Memorial  Prize,'  the  competition  to  be 
open  to  those  who  have  taken  the  B.A.  degree,  and  the 
subject  of  the  essay  to  be  selected  in  turn  by  the  Vice- 
Chancellor,  the  Headmaster  of  Rugby,  and  the  Poet 
Laureate.     She  wrote  thus  to  the  Honorary  Secretary : 

*  I  must  ask  you  to  assure  the  committee  and  sub- 
scribers how  deeply  I  am  touched  and  gratified  by  the 
way  in  which  all,  even  strangers  as  well  as  personal 
friends,  have  testified  their  affection  and  admiration  for 
my  husband.  He  would  have  been  greatly  touched  by 
it,  and  would  have  felt  as  deeply  gratified  as  I  do  by  the 
generous  kindness  shown  to  me.  It  is  a  comfort  to  me 
in  my  sorrow  that  the  memory  of  all  he  was,  and  of  all 
he  did,  will  be  cherished  by  so  many,  and  will  have  a 
lasting  memorial  in  the  Abbey.' 


205 


W.  E,  GLADSTONE 

The  world  has  recently  received  so  great  a  biography 
of  Mr.  Gladstone  from  a  distinguished  man  of  letters, 
who  was  also  a  political  colleague  and  comrade,  that  it 
may  seem  useless,  if  not  presumptuous,  to  add  anything 
in  reference  to  him.  Doubtless,  however,  many  other 
critical  estimates,  and  biographic  material,  will  be  forth- 
coming ;  and  it  may  not  be  superfluous  for  me  to  give 
one  or  two  brief  reminiscences. 

I  recall  his  address  as  Lord  Kector  of  the  University 
of  Edinburgh  in  1860.  The  undergraduates,  and  the 
Senatus  Academicus,  were  swayed  by  it  in  a  remark- 
able manner.  The  representatives  of  both  political 
parties  were  at  one  in  their  admiration  for  the 
intellectual  intensity,  the  eloquence,  and  elevation  of 
the  address.  Of  course,  we  youths  all  took  sides  in 
politics.  I  was  then  on  Mr.  Gladstone's  side,  and  re- 
member sitting  beside  a  fellow  student  of  the  opposition, 
who  came  with  me  intensely  prejudiced,  but  was  soon 
captivated  by  the  oration,  and  even  magnetised  by  the 
personality  of  the  speaker.  One  month  afterwards 
Lord    Brougham    addressed    the    University,    in    the 


206  EETKOSPECTS 

office  of  Chancellor ;  and  we  all  remember  the  con- 
trast between  the  ponderous  forensic  argumentation  of 
the  great  lawyer,  and  the  agile  thrusts  and  persuasive 
oratory  of  Gladstone. 

I  first  made  his  acquaintance  by  the  publisher's 
having  sent  him  a  copy  of  a  small  volume  issued 
in  the  year  1863 — viz.  Poems  from  the  Dawn  of 
English  Literature  to  the  Year  1699.  It  was  published 
anonymously,  and  in  February  1863  Mr.  Gladstone 
wrote  that,  although  he  did  not  know  whom  he  was 
addressing,  he  sent  his  best  thanks  for  the  selection 
and  its  introduction.  He  approved  of  the  contents,  and 
wished  the  volume  every  possible  success. 

I  well  remember  a  dinner-party  in  London  at  which 
Mr.  Gladstone  was  the  principal  guest,  although  there 
were  many  representatives  of  Literature  and  Science  as 
well  as  Politics  present.  After  dinner  the  conversation 
turned  to  the  number  of  lines  in  the  great  poems  of 
the  world ;  and  Mr.  Gladstone  was  asked :  How  many 
are  there  in  the  Iliad  ?  He  at  once  replied,  and  to  a 
second  question  gave  the  number  in  the  Odyssey,  *  In 
the  Divine  Comedy?'  inquired  one  guest.  Instantly 
the  number  in  the  Inferno,  the  Purgatorio,  and  the 
Paradiso  were  told.  In  Hamlet,  Paradise  Lost, 
Faust  (I  only  remember  these),  the  answer  came  with- 
out a  pause,  as  if  out  of  a  brain  in  compartments,  where 
the  facts  had  been  stored  away,  and  which  now  opened 
as  by  a  spring.    I  was  asked  by  our  host  if  I  could  tell 


W.   E.   GLADSTONE  207 

the  number  in  The  Excursion  and  in  The  Prelude, 
and  by  some  one  else  how  many  there  were  in  The 
White  Doe  of  Bylstone.  In  each  case  I  had  to  shake  my 
head  in  ignorance.  I  said  it  had  never  occurred  to  me 
to  estimate  poems  by  their  quantity.  *  No,'  said  Glad- 
stone, *  none  of  us  do  that — the  test  is  a  qualitative  one 
— but  literary  statistics  are  always  of  use.'  It  seemed 
to  me,  however,  as  if  the  instinct  of  the  Chancellor  of 
the  Exchequer  had  been  at  work  in  the  brain  of  the 
Premier  in  reference  to  the  great  poems  of  the  world, 
and  that  the  chambers  of  memory  were  full  to  over- 
flowing. On  telling  this  afterwards  at  St.  Andrews  to 
his  old  Oxford  tutor — Bishop  Charles  Wordsworth — he 
said  that  Gladstone's  memory  was  superlative.  *  I  re- 
member sending  him,  to  the  country  house  in  which  he 
was  then  residing,  a  Latin  version  which  I  had  just 
written  of  one  of  the  hymns  in  the  Christian  Year,  He 
replied  at  once,  and  quoted  in  his  letter  another  excel- 
lent rendering  of  the  same  hymn  in  Latin,  made  long 
ago  by  a  friend  of  his,  which  he  said  was  still  as  vivid 
to  him  as  if  he  had  received  it  yesterday.' 

When  writing  Wordsworth's  Life,  I  asked  Mr.  Glad- 
stone whether  he  had  any  letters  from  the  poet  which 
he  cared  to  show  me,  aa  I  knew  that  he  had  been  instru- 
mental in  aiding  him  in  various  ways,  obtaining  his 
pension  from  the  Civil  List,  &c.  He  kindly  sent  me 
seven  letters,  and  some  memoranda  as  to  his  circum- 
stances supplied  by  Wordsworth,  for  use  in  the  biography 


208  EETEOSPECTS 

which  he  was  glad  to  hear  was  in  hand,  wishing  all 
success  to  *  the  deeply  interesting  work.' 

Four  of  these  letters  are  published  in  volume  iii.  of 
my  Life  of  Wordsworth,  pp.  328,  340,  426,  and  427 ; 
and  a  letter  from  Mr.  Gladstone  to  Wordsworth  on  the 
Copyright  Bill  will  be  found  on  p.  339.  The  following 
reached  me  a  few  days  after  I  received  them : 

*  Hawarden  :  January  17, 1887. 

*  I  thank  you  for  the  very  prompt  return  of  the 
Wordsworth  letters.  I  have  no  objection  to  the  publica- 
tion, as  you  recommend  it,  but  see  below.  You  are 
aware  that  I  cannot  give  you  an  afifirmative  title  to 
publish.  My  advice  is  that  nothing  should  be  published 
about  Lord  Monteagle's  relation  to  the  Premier.  It  is 
better,  I  think,  passed  over. 

*  Nor,  if  I  denounced  anyone  for  Schism,  should  I  wish 
this  to  be  published  as  a  fragment,  though  I  should 
have  no  objection  if  it  were  coupled  with  what  I  have 
written  since. 

*  I  was  an  eager  supporter  of  Serjeant  Talfourd,  but 
have  long  since  altered  my  view;  and  am  of  opinion 
that  a  more  free  system  of  copyright  than  the  present 
one  is  possible,  and  would  be  more  advantageous  to 
the  author,  the  trade,  and  the  public. 

*  With  regard  to  Wordsworth's  circumstances  I 
conclude  you  would  print  nothing,  in  the  way  of  par- 
ticulars, except  with  the  approval  of  his  nearest  repre- 
sentative. 

*  As  Minister  I  have  always  held  that  Civil  List 


W.   E.   GLADSTONE  209 

pensions  cannot  be  given  to  literary  men  on  the  score  of 
need,  and  I  never  asked  proof  of  need,  .  .  .' 

When  I  asked  Mr.  Gladstone's  permission  to  publish 
his  letters  to  Wordsworth,  he  granted  it  cordially  as 
proposed,  and  they  will  be  found  in  the  poet's  Life, 

He  also  wrote  about  Henry  Taylor,  Miss  Fenwick, 
the  subject  of  Copyright,  on  which  he  thought  the  method 
of  Talfourd  and  the  present  law  faulty,  and  in  regard  to 
Schism  wished  me  to  state,  on  his  behalf,  that  after 
fifty  intervening  years  he  could  not  now  express  him- 
self as  he  had  done.  He  mentioned  that  in  1838  he 
was  a  fervent  student  of  the  great  Italian  poet  Dante, 
and  should  have  remembered  that  it  is  upon  the 
authorship  of  schism  that  he  bestows  malediction. 

The  only  other  letter  from  which  I  need  make  an 
extract  refers  to  a  book  which  I  wrote  on  The  Philo- 
sophy of  the  Beautiful,  and  it  is  quoted  merely  because 
it  indicates  Mr.  Gladstone's  belief  on  the  subject : 

'  Hawarden :  October  30,  1891. 

*  I  thank  you  very  much  for  the  work  you  have  kindly 
sent  me.  I  have  at  once  commenced  it.  .  .  .  A  strong 
and  old  believer  in  Beauty  as  an  ultimate  reality,  not 
less  than  Truth  or  than  Goodness,  I  am,  I  hope,  well 
prepared  to  profit  by  your  instructions.  .  .  .' 

In  the  course  of  one  conversation  Mr.  Gladstone  said 
I.  P 


210  EETKOSPECTS 

to  me :  *  People  talk  of  a  change  in  opinion  as  if  it  were 
a  disgrace.  To  me  it  is  a  sign  of  life.  If  yoa  are  alive, 
you  must  change.  It  is  only  the  dead  who  remain  the 
same ;  and  of  all  charges  brought  against  a  man,  or  a 
party,  that  of  inconsistency  because  of  changed  opinion, 
leading  to  a  change  of  front,  is  the  most  inept.  As 
trumped  up  against  a  political  opponent  it  is  usually  a 
mere  party  trick.  I  have  changed  my  point  of  view  on 
a  score  of  subjects,  and  my  convictions  as  to  very  many 
of  them.' 

Some-one  present  said  this  might  be  carried  so  far  as 
to  subvert  our  Institutions,  or  endanger  their  stability. 
Gladstone  replied,  he  was  not  afraid  of  it ;  and  that  he 
had  advocated,  and  would  still  advocate,  many  changes 
that  cut  deep  down,  and  might  seem  at  first  to  be  de- 
structive, but  were  afterwards  proved  to  be  salutary. 
In  reference  to  what  had  not  been  tried,  he  said,  for 
example,  he  wished  that  the  Prince  of  Wales  had  more 
to  do  in  connection  with  the  affairs  of  the  realm  before 
he  came  to  the  throne.  *  I  have  sometimes  thought  it 
might  be  a  salutary  thing  if  our  constitution  allowed  the 
monarch  to  admit  his  successor  to  a  limited  share  in  the 
duties  of  office.  It  would  accustom  him  to  the  coming 
weight  of  responsibility.' 

He  spoke  with  enthusiasm  of  the  good  which  her 
Majesty  had  done  to  Scotland,  to  Scottish  sentiment  and 
loyalty,  by  her  summer  and  autumn  visits  to  the  North ; 
and  said  that  he  often  wished  it  could  have  been  the 
same  with  reference  to  the  sister  isle.  I  ventured  to 
say  that  had  there  been  a  royal  residence  in  Ireland, 


W.   E.   GLADSTONE  211 

and  an  annual  visit  to  it,  there  might  have  been  no  Irish 
grievance.  Mr.  Gladstone  replied  :  *  At  least  we  should 
not  have  heard  so  much  about  it.  The  Irish  are  at 
heart  a  loyal  race,  and  quick  to  respond  to  kindness  of 
every  sort.' 


p2 


212  KETKOSPECTS 


WILLIAM  DAVIE S 

To  Dora  Greenwell  of  Durham — of  whom  I  hope  to 
write  in  a  subsequent  volume — I  owe  my  knowledge  of 
two  remarkable  men  of  original  character,  and  rare 
ideality,  viz.  William  Davies  and  James  Smetham. 
The  former  was  a  friend  of  hers,  and  of  her  brother  Alan. 
I  visited  him  at  Warrington  in  the  sixties,  and  at  Chester 
in  the  nineties,  of  last  century  ;  and  corresponded  with 
him  a  good  deal.  He  edited  many  interesting  and 
original  letters  by  our  friend  Smetham ;  but  his  own, 
now  reproduced  in  part,  seem  to  me  more  remarkable 
still.  Before  quoting  from  them,  I  should  mention  one 
or  two  facts  about  his  life.  He  was  born  at  Warrington 
and  educated  in  its  Grammar  School.  Destined  for  a 
mercantile  career,  he  began  life  in  a  bank,  where  he 
remained  for  some  years.  During  these  years  he  also 
studied  painting,  and  was  more  interested  in  Art  than  in 
business,  helping  to  establish  the  Warrington  School  of 
Art.  All  along  he  felt  the  uncongenial  strain  of  a 
mercantile  life,  and — as  will  be  abundantly  seen  in  his 
letters — he  longed  to  secure  a  modest  competence,  and 
retire  from  business.  At  length  he  was  able  to  do  so, 
and  went  during  each  summer  to  the  Continent,  to  study 


WILLIAM  DAVIES  213 

in  the  art-galleries,  and  to  sketch  the  surrounding 
scenery,  usually  spending  his  winters  in  London.  He 
wrote  occasional  articles  at  this  time  in  the  Quarterly 
Review,  and  made  many  close  friendships  ;  his  know- 
ledge of  Dante  Gabriel  Eossetti  having  perhaps  the  most 
determining  influence  on  his  future.  Delicacy  of  health 
at  last  induced  him  to  leave  England  altogether,  and, 
following  the  advice  of  Eossetti,  he  settled  in  Eome. 

There  he  led  a  varied  and  highly  intellectual  life, 
unambitious,  and  unselfish.  In  1869  he  finished  his 
first  book,  which  he  called,  Songs  of  a  Wayfarer ,  a  work 
full  of  poetic  insight  and  melody.  It  was  followed  in 
1873  by  the  Pilgrimage  of  the  Tiber — beginning  at 
Ostia,  and  ending  at  the  river's  source — illustrated  by 
drawings  of  his  own,  and  others  supplied  by  friends,  a 
most  delightful  book  of  art-travel.  At  the  source  of  the 
historic  river  an  old  guide  led  him  to  a  little  rill  from 
which  it  flows,  and  leaning  on  his  staff  pointed  to  the 
water  and  said  *  E  questo  si  chiama  il  Tevere  a  Eoma  ! ' 
(*  And  this  they  call  the  Tiber  at  Eome  !')  In  the  same 
year,  1873,  The  Shepherd's  Garden  was  published  ; 
which  was  followed,  in  1875,  by  A  fine  old  English 
Gentleman, 

The  Letters  of  James  Smetham  were  issued  by 
him  in  1891,  with  a  singularly  interesting  memorial 
notice  of  his  friend  prefixed  to  them.  His  last  work 
was  entitled  The  Pilgrim  of  the  Infinite,  published  in 
1894.  As  will  be  seen  from  his  letters,  he  had  a  stroke 
of  paralysis  at  Eome  in  1892,  from  which  he  recovered 
so  far  as   to   be   able   to  settle  in   Cheshire,  first  at 


214  EETKOSPECTS 

Baycliffe,  Lymm,  and  afterwards  in  the  city  of  Chester. 
There  he  carried  on  his  studies  in  Italian,  founding  a 
small  society  for  the  reading  of  Dante ;  and  pursued 
with  much  ardour  his  examination  of  the  '  Sacred  Books 
of  the  East,'  especially  the  Vedas  and  Upanishads.  He 
was  also  devoted  to  the  English  poets  (more  particularly 
those  of  the  sixteenth  century)  till  the  end  of  his  life, 
which  occurred  in  May  1897.  He  was  a  modern  Christian 
mystic,  steeped  in  the  thoughts  and  aspirations  of  the 
East. 

In  a  printed  but  unpublished  paper  on  The  Wisdom 
of  the  Upanishads,  written  at  Rome,  in  1886,  he  had 
been  enlarging  on  the  value  of  the  Vedas  as  *  instructive 
in  the  region  of  the  higher  life,'  to  which  he  said  '  there 
is  no  parallel  in  Literature  outside  the  teaching  of 
Christ  as  found  in  the  New  Testament ' ;  and  he  con- 
tinued as  follows :  *  Not  here  indeed,  nor  anywhere,  do 
we  find  the  warm,  loving,  active  religion  of  the  Author 
of  Christianity  in  its  sweetness,  its  tenderness,  its  rich 
humanities,  its  general  applicability  to  the  societies  of 
men.  But  the  human  soul  is  an  entity  of  many  facets. 
He  who  would  learn  the  great  lesson  of  life  will  not  be 
content  to  fix  his  attention  on  one.  Life,  the  world,  are 
but  points  in  infinite  space.  He  who  is  wise,  standing 
on  these  points,  will  look  around.  He  will  not  close  his 
eyes  upon  one  ray,  and  say  this  is  all.  If  the  soul  of 
man  is  a  spark  from  the  being  of  God,  he  who  has  this 
lofty  fathership  will  know  and  feel  that  by  virtue  of  his 
origin  he  may  take  the  wings  of  the  morning,  and  visit 
the  place  of  the  birth  of  souls,  of  the  life  that  never  dies. 


WILLIAM  DAVIES  215 

To  him  the  wealth  of  the  world,  its  honours,  and  the 
objects  of  its  desire,  will  be  less  than  little.  He  will  see 
the  noble  beyond  the  mean,  the  permanent  beyond  the 
changeable.  Satisfied,  stable,  helpful  to  others,  restful 
within  himself,  he  will  look  upon  life  as  an  education, 
time  as  his  instructor,  the  world  as  his  school.  This  is 
the  teaching  of  the  Vedas,  as  it  is  of  the  noblest  religion, 
the  highest  philosophy.' 

In  1862  I  was  preparing  the  first  book  I  ventured 
to  issue,  entitled  Poems  from  the  Dawn  of  English 
Literature  to  the  Year  1699.  As  I  had  met  Mr. 
Davies  before  that  year,  and  knew  his  wide  acquaintance 
with  English  Literature,  I  corresponded  with  him  on 
the  subject  of  the  proposed  extracts.    He  wrote  to  me : 

'  Sankey  Street,  Warrington  :  June  23,  1862. 

♦  *  *  *  * 

*  I  have  often  thought  a  very  excellent  volume  of 
devotional  poetry  might  be  selected  from  secular  writers 
alone.  As  a  curiosity  it  would  be  valuable,  to  say  the 
least  of  it ;  but  I  am  not  quite  sure  whether  certain 
sections  of  our  modern  religious  world  would  find  any 
value  in  it  beyond  that.  What,  e.g.,  could  be  finer  than 
the  hymn  entitled  "  Kesignation,"  by  the  wild  boy  Chat- 
terton  ?  Yet  I  never  saw  it  brought  into  the  Churches. 
It  begins : 

O  God  whose  thunder  shakes  the  sky, 

Whose  eye  this  atom  globe  surveys. 

I  suppose  this  writer  is  out  of  your  limits,  but  I  believe  he 
has  several  noble  things  of  this  sort  not  often  printed. 


216  KETKOSPECTS    . 

*Do  you  know  it  strikes  me  that  any  of  the  old 
dramatists  will  as  little  bear  selecting  from  as  Shake- 
speare or  Milton.  The  same  speech  in  a  character 
elaborated  through  a  certain  series  of  influences  may 
sound  vastly  different  in  one  developed  through  quite 
another  series.  It  is  rather  in  the  broad  characters  of 
noble  or  degraded,  selfish  or  liberal  actualisms,  than  in 
definite  assertion  of  principles,  that  the  forte  of  the 
"  old  dramatist "  lies ;  not  that  the  latter  are  altogether 
absent  from  their  writings  ;  but  they  form  no  array 
of  well-rounded  actuating  principles,  to  be  culled  out 
and  placed  on  another  page  to  fair  advantage.  I  am 
not  quite  sure,  however,  whether  isolated  lines  and 
fragmentary  passages  would  agree  with  your  plan. 

'Amongst  the  older  dramatic  writers  who  are  the 
least  read  may  be  mentioned  John  Marston,  whose 
muscular  grasp  of  language  often  verges  upon  the 
uncouth.  Disfigured  by  the  broadest  and  coarsest 
possible  passages,  there  may  yet  be  found  in  his  plays 
passages  of  surpassing  beauty  and  fine  moral  force.  For 
instance,  in  his  Antonio  and  Mellida,  1st  part,  4th  act, 
beginning  : 

*Tis  not  the  bared  pate,  the  bended  knees, 
Gilt  tipstaves,  Tyrian  purple,  chairs  of  state, 
Troops  of  pied  butterflies,  that  flutter  still 
In  greatness'  summer,  that  confirme  a  prince, 

and  so  on  for  half  a  page.  This  can  scarcely  be  called 
religious  poetry ;  though  it  is  moral,  of  a  high  order. 
There  are  many  fine  lines  and  expressions  to  be  found 
in  this  writer,  but  not  one  lyric  piece  to  serve  your 


WILLIAM  DAVIES  217 

purpose.  .  .  .  From  Marlowe,  Ford,  Webster,  Ben  Jon- 
son,  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  I  can  point  out  scores  of 
passages  of  exquisite  poetic  beauty ;  but  I  am  afraid 
not  very  much  to  serve  your  end.  .  .  .  There  is  a  selec- 
tion of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  by  Leigh  Hunt,  pub- 
lished by  Bohn,  which  is  as  good  as  a  thing  of  that  sort 
can  be.  .  .  .  Our  old  Bishop  Ken,  who  wrote  the  com- 
mon morning  and  evening  hymns — the  first  of  which  he 
used  to  sing  every  morning  at  four  o'clock  to  his  lute — 
published  a  volume  of  religious  poetry,  out  of  which 
I  have  no  doubt  two  or  three  things  might  be  taken, 
although  on  the  whole  they  are  rather  poor.  .  .  . 

*  In  selecting  from  Donne,  I  would  specially  mention 
A  Hymn  to  God  the  Father,  beginning 

Wilt  Thou  forgive  that  sin  where  I  began  ? 

There  are  others  too,  not  generally  known,  to  be  found 
in  his  published  volume.  The  omission  of  such  poems 
as  Herbert's  Pulley,  Flower,  Dialogue,  &c.,  is  a 
loss  to  any  collection  of  religious  poetry ;  but  you  must 
stop  somewhere,  and  if  you  begin  with  Herbert,  the 
limit  is  not  easily  assignable.  It  is  needless  to  mention 
such  well-known  things  as  Chaucer's  Good  Counsel, 
and  other  short  didactic  or  devotional  pieces,  though 
you  should  not  forget  a  beautiful  little  stanza : 

If  it  befall  that  God  thee  list  visite 

With  any  torment  or  adversite 

Thanke  first  the  Lorde,  and  then  thyself  to  quite 

Upon  sufferaunce  and  humilite 

Founde  thou  thy  quaril,  what  ere  that  it  be, 

Make  thy  defence,  and  thou  shalt  have  no  losse, 

The  remembraunce  of  Christ  and  of  his  Crosse. 


218  KETKOSPECTS 

*  Of  Spenser,  too,  I  need  say  as  little — his  passage  of 
the  watchfulness  of  the  angels  in  the  Faerie  Queene, 

And  is  there  care  in  heaven, 
the  noble  sermon  of  Artegale, 

Of  things  unseen  how  canst  thou  deeme  aright, 

and  others  of  his  minor  poems.  Doubtless  Sir  Henry 
Wotton  will  not  be  forgotten.    His 

Farewell,  ye  gilded  follies, 

quoted  in  Walton's  Complete  Angler,  is  a  gem  of  the 
first  water.  All  the  best  lyrics  of  the  older  dramatists 
are  to  be  found  in  Bell's  Songs  of  the  Dramatists — 
a  delicious  collection  of  that  kind  of  poetry.  I  may 
mention  Idleness,  by  Heywood,  at  p.  29 ;  Sweet  Content, 
p.  189  ;  A  Dirge,  "Glories,  pleasures,  pomps,"  &c.,  p.  211; 
"Victorious  men  of  Earth,"  p.  226;  "The  glories  of 
our  birth,"  p.  227,  as  possibly  suitable  for  your  pur- 
pose. Have  you  seen  Joshua  Sylvester's  translation  of 
Du  Bartas,  and  others  of  his  works  ?  Andrew  Marvell 
and  George  Wither  might  furnish  you  with  something. 

*  Our  old  stores  of  serious  poetry  have  been  thoroughly 
ransacked,  and,  being  very  limited  in  comparison  with 
other  kinds,  have,  I  fancy,  all  the  more  diligently  been 
brought  before  modern  readers  ;  so  that  one  has  no  right 
to  expect  very  much  that  is  quite  new  to  the  generality 
of  readers.  .  .  .' 

In  the  same  year  he  wrote — 

*  Warrington  :  August  6, 1862. 

*  Unfortunately,  much  excellent  poetry  of  to-day  lacks 


WILLIAM  DAVIES  219 

readers.  Good  poetry  is  positively  common.  One 
meets  with  a  conciseness  of  diction,  mellifluousness  of 
versification,  high  powers  of  imagination  displayed  very 
generally;  but  that  it  has  little  hold  on  the  popular 
mind  is  quite  as  true.  One  reason  is  this.  Poetry  is 
an  aesthetic  thing,  and  just  as  we  turn  to  a  fine  statue, 
or  painting,  or  noble  strain  of  music  over  and  over 
again,  with  renewed  pleasure  and  a  better  appreciation, 
so  it  is  with  the  best  kinds  of  Poetry.  Prose  is  a  mirror 
of  the  age,  an  incarnation  of  the  present ;  Poetry  is  a 
thing  for  all  time,  and  appeals  to  every  age  alike.  So, 
if  I  wish  the  kind  of  influence  Poetry  gives,  instead  of 
buying  the  last  new  volume  of  verses,  I  turn  up  my 
Chaucer  or  Keats,  my  Fletcher  or  Shakespeare,  and  defy 
any  age  or  time  or  man  to  give  me  more  pleasure.  Not 
that  I  would  try  to  stem  the  tide  of  poetical  production, 
but  I  would  doubly  strain,  and  sift  well,  all  poetical 
writing.  .  .  .' 

«  «  «  «  # 

The    following    are    extracts    from  letters  written 
afterwards  : 

*  Warrington :  November  22,  1862. 

*.  .  .  I  had  a  vague  sort  of  presentiment  that  you 
might  turn  up.  Indeed,  passing  the  station  about  the 
time  that  your  train  was  due,  I  turned  in  to  meet  you 
in  case  the  destinies  had  been  kinder  than  they  proved  ; 
and  tried  to  console  myself  for  your  non-appearance  by 
persuading  myself  I  had  not  expected  you !  I  have 
sacrificed  and  do  sacrifice  so  much  in  life  that  is  con- 


220  EETKOSPECTS 

sistently  unattainable,  that  I  feel  that  it  is  difficult  to 
assign  limits  to  the  amount  of  sacrifice  made  necessary 
in  the  whole  length  of  it.  Whilst  it  is  possible,  it  is  by 
no  means  certain  that  we  shall  be  thrown  together  fre- 
quently ;  I  think,  however,  that  neither  of  us  would  have 
the  greatest  and  best  gift  for  friendship  if  we  did  not 
feel  the  relationship  to  be  a  very  deep  and  solemn  one, 
fostered  only  through  mutual  joy  and  sorrow,  and  pro- 
found experience  of  life,  not  through  mere  concord  of 
opinion,  or  a  similarity  of  tastes  and  pursuits  alone.  .  .  . 


*  If  my  holidays  were  not  limited  to  once  a  year — or 
the  north  and  south  lay  nearer  to  each  other— I  should 
visit  you  in  Scotland.  I  recollect  with  a  sense  of  their 
incompleteness  my  lonely  rambles  in  the  Highlands,  of 
bygone  years ;  through  desolate  valleys  whose  stony 
silence  was  oppressive,  by  twisting  rivers  whose  appeal- 
ing tones  seemed  to  ask  for  an  overflow  of  human  emo- 
tion to  render  them  intelligible,  through  gorgeous  sun- 
sets whose  glowing  radiance — as  it  lingered  about  the 
bald  mountain-tops — required  **  the  still  sad  music  of 
humanity"  to  explain  its  true  significance.  All  these 
were  felt  and  enjoyed  intensely  by  me ;  but  with  what 
an  added  glory  and  significance  might  they  have  spoken 
in  the  company  of  one  breathing  the  freshness  of  the 
morning  with  joy,  and  welcoming  the  restful  evening 
with  gladness. 

*  Perhaps  we  are  taught  self-dependence,  and  a  higher 
trust,  by  being  left  alone ;  but  the  heart  is  gregarious, 


WILLIAM  DAVIES  221 

and  we  all  love  companionship.  I  may  never  see  your 
noble-hearted  friend,  but  I  should  like  to  persuade  my- 
self that  we  may  meet  sometime  under  the  changeless 
circumstances  of  an  unfettered  state  of  being. 

*  I  do  not  know  whether  I  explained  to  you  my  views 
of  life ;  or  at  all  accounted  for  them,  if  I  did.  I  am 
here  at  an  occupation  far  from  congenial  to  me,  although 
I  perform  its  duties,  I  hope,  sufficiently  well.  Severed 
from  Art,  from  Nature,  from  many  elevating  and  en- 
nobling influences  which  I  am  fitted  to  receive,  in  a 
climate  irritating  to  my  physique,  with  only  one  thing 
— which  I  am  afraid  is  almost  everything,  after  all ! — 
to  leave  with  deep  regret.  The  latter  is  my  circle  of 
kind,  good,  and  noble  friends,  who  will  never  be  replaced 
to  me ;  nor,  if  absent,  be  entirely  separated  from  me. 
I   shall  never  find  another    circle   so    congenial   and 

sympathetic. 

*  *  #  *  ♦ 

*  Probably  in  somewhat  less  than  two  years  I  may 
take  up  my  residence  for  a  while  in  the  art  cities  of 

Italy. 

*  *  *  #  * 

*  Do  you  think  I  may  place  it  amongst  my  dreams 
that  we  shall  stand  under  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's 
together,  or  walk  round  the   Coliseum  under  a  bluer 

sky? 

***** 

*  I  have  no  wish  to  be  idle  in  life  :  the  reverse  of  it : 
but  I  wish  to  be  occupied  by  the  use  of  those  faculties 
that  God  has  gifted  me  withal,  and  not  have  to  smother 


222  KETEOSPECTS 

the  better  half  of  my  being  for  the  exercise  of  its 
inferior  part.  If  I  live  I  hope  my  final  field  of  labour 
may  lie  chiefly  or  wholly  in  London,  with  artistic  or 
literary  occupation  such  as  I  love. 

#  #  *  *  # 

*  I  am  in  the  middle  of  Dora  Greenwell's  book.^  I 
like  it  even  better  than  its  predecessors.  I  feel  little 
inclined  to  play  the  critic  over  a  good  work  well  done. 
In  its  circle  it  is  all  that  can  be  desired  ;  but  one  must 
not  forget  that  it  is  written  in  a  circle — wide  enough, 
I  daresay,  for  most  of  us,  but  with  discernible  limits. 
The  great  want  of  nearly  every  literary  person  is  a 
thorough  acquaintance  with  the  general  principles  of 
Science.  The  acts  and  laws  of  God,  in  regard  to 
what  He  has  made,  are  surely  worth  studying ;  and  I 
often  perceive  in  a  discourse  upon  abstract  matters  how 
a  knowledge  of  this  or  that  fact  or  law  of  the  external 
world  would  have  considerably  modified,  or  altogether 
altered,  opinions  stated  in  the  most  unconditional 
manner.  For  instance,  theologians  almost  always  speak 
of  the  soul  as  an  isolated  and  perfectly  different 
existence  from  anything  else  in  the  universe.  It  is 
not  so.  The  vitality  of  a  leaf,  in  an  infinitely  inferior 
degree,  is  the  vitality  of  the  soul ;  they  are  both  the 
breath  of  God.  The  circulation  of  the  blood  is  a  repro- 
duction in  a  lower  form  of  memory  and  the  continuity 
of  thought.  I  mean  to  say  the  same  laws  that  control 
the  external  world  in  another  form  govern  the  human 

'  Two  Friends. 


WILLIAM  DAVIES  223 

soul  in  its  courses.  It  must  be  so.  God  has  only  one 
law  fundamentally,  which  must  be  right  and  true, 
whether  exercised  in  the  circulation  of  water  in  the 
ocean,  or  of  blood  in  human  veins  ;  and  the  same  is 
reproduced  in  the  highest  forms  of  existence.  This  is 
not  pantheism,  nor  leads  to  it ;  nor  materialism,  though 
it  look  like  it.  God  is  enough  for  himself,  for  his 
creation,  and  for  his  creatures ;  and  deals  himself  out 
to  all,  according  to  their  several  needs.  All  Science  is 
a  kind  of  Keligion  ;  and  the  dangers  of  worshipping 
Religion,  and  not  God,  are  just  as  great  as — and  more 
than — the  dangers  of  worshipping  Science,  or  the 
results  to  which  it  leads. 

*  Before  concluding,  however,  let  me  answer  your 
questions  about  the  etchings.  They  are  done  by  Mr. 
James  Smetham,  1  Park  Lane,  Paradise  Eow,  Stoke 
Newington,  London  N.,  and  published  by  him.  If  you 
have  ever  nothing  better  to  do,  and  write  him  a  line  to 
let  him  know  what  you  think  of  his  works,  he  would, 
I  know,  be  much  gratified  ;  and,  if  he  was  in  the  mood 
for  writing,  you  might  get  a  letter  back,  which  you 
would  like  to  receive.  Do  not,  however,  request  him  to 
send  you  the  etchings:  the  series  of  which,  I  believe, 
will  shortly  be  completed  by  a  dozen ;  as,  if  I  go  up  to 
London  in  the  spring,  I  should  like  to  obtain  them  for 
you  myself,  and  see  to  their  safe  transmission. 


*  I  notice,  as  a  rule  in  life,  that  hot  correspondence 
falls  almost  always  away ;  but  the  occasional  interchange 


224  EETKOSPECTS 

of  letters,  which  does  not  interfere  with  the  business 
of  life,  is  useful  and  good.  I  shall  put  no  definite 
time  or  conditions  on  hearing  from  you,  neither  must 
you  claim  the  same  from  me  ;  but  I  hope  we  shall  hear 
from  each  other,  when  occasion  serves.  "  For  as  iron 
sharpeneth  iron,  so  a  man's  countenance  doth  that 
of  his  friend  "  ;  and  I  consider  a  letter  the  next  best 
thing  to  the  countenance,  though  a  very  imperfect  and 
to  some  extent  unsatisfactory  mode  of  communi- 
cation.' 

*  *  «  «   .  # 

'  Warrington  :  19  January,  1863. 

*  «  *  ♦  * 

*  I  thank  you  greatly  for  your  book,^  which  is 
much  more  valuable  to  me  than  if  I  had  bought  it.  I 
am  quite  determined,  however,  not  to  exhaust  the 
pleasure  of  reading  it  at  once ;  but  rather  to  let  it  lie 
on  my  table,  open  it  at  a  blank  moment,  and  find  every 
time  a  choice  diamond  in  fittest  setting  of  right 
words.  I  do  not  think  you  ought  quite  to  exclude  the 
four  names  mentioned  in  your  preface.  Because  they 
have  written  much  that  is  good  is  scarcely  a  reason 
that  we  should  have  none.  Two  or  three  from  George 
Herbert — say  The  Flower  and  The  Pulley — one  or 
two  from  Shakespeare,  a  sonnet  or  fragment  not  quoted 
quite  every  day,  and  a  passage  from  Comus,  would  be 
no  more  familiar  than  Shirley's  "The  glories  of  our 
birth  and  state,"  and  Herrick's  "  Fair  Daffodils."    The 

^  The  Poems  from  the  Davm. 


WILLIAM  DAVIES  225 

very  names  would  add  fragrance  to  the  volume,  and 
completeness,  I  think. 

*  The  binding,  I  think,  bears  very  much  the  character 
of  the  Jones,  Morris,  and  Rossetti  society  who  are  trying 
to  get  at  the  simplicity  in  design  of  the  Middle  Ages. 
The  motto  is  just  the  thing ;  but  I  think  the  vignette 

might  have  been  better.     Still  it  will  do. 

*  *  *  *  # 

*  I  received  also  a  copy  of  Mr.  Wilson's  lecture 
delivered  at  West  Hurlet,'  which  is  a  really  noble  pro- 
duction, full  of  deep  and  earnest  truth.  When  you  see 
him,  please  convey  to  him  my  very  cordial  sympathies 
and  very  best  thanks.  With  one  thing  in  his  pamphlet 
I  do  not  agree.  He  thinks  thought  ought  not  to  be 
bought,  but  given.  The  labourer,  however,  must  live 
by  his  occupation.  Nay  more,  I  do  not  see  why  thought 
should  be  given,  any  more  than  that  bread  should 
be    given,  which    is    a    necessity  before  and   beyond 

thought. 

#  #  #  #  # 

*  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  hear  of  your  being  fixed  in  a 
congenial  sphere.  Not  idleness,  freedom  from  definite 
duty,  a  perfectly  sympathetic  moral  and  intellectual 
atmosphere,  constitute  the  most  desirable  blessings  ; 
but  rather  a  field  of  labour  in  harmony  with  the  highest 
powers  of  work  and  influence  within  us.  This  is  man's 
noblest  destiny,  to  work  in  such  a  field  with  all  his 
powers  and  energies,  and  not  to  work  in  vain. 

*  We  shall  be  glad,  indeed,  to  see  you  for  as  long  a 

'  On  Work  and  Money. 
I.  Q 


226  EETKOSPECTS 

time  as  you  can  make  stay,  when  you  come  south  on 
your  Wordsworthian  pilgrimage.  It  is  now  many  years 
since  I  stood  at  his  grave.  Indeed,  it  was  very  shortly 
after  his  death.  Whilst  yet  a  boy  I  spent  a  fortnight 
amongst  the  English  Lakes  alone.  It  was  the  first  time 
I  had  ever  been  so  long  companionless,  but  I  cannot  tell 
you  how  much  more  impressive  everything  became  on 
that  account.  I  think  I  learnt  more  of  the  mystery, 
glory,  and  lofty  teaching  of  Nature,  in  that  short  fort- 
night, than  I  have  ever  learnt  since.  Like  a  gnome  or 
earth-spirit,  I  seemed  to  be  part  and  parcel  of  all  that 
was  around  me,  whether  my  vision  soared  over  the 
undulating  spread  of  mountain,  lake,  and  valley,  or 
whether  I  sat  hour-long  by  the  side  of  running  waters, 
or  read  their  marvellous  lessons  from  flower  and  leaf. 

*  Have  you  ever  read  Wordsworth's  Prelude  ?  I 
need  scarcely  ask  you.  There  are  some  very  noble 
passages  in  it,  in  deeper  sympathy — nay,  absolute  unity 
— with  Nature  than  is  to  be  found  in  all  Literature. 
But,  do  you  know,  I  do  not  frequently  turn  to  Words 
worth  as  my  expositor  of  Nature.  He  always  seems  to 
me  as  if  he  made  it  a  business  to  be  poetical.  Keats, 
for  instance— although  he  knew  no  more  of  the  meaning 
of  Nature  than  a  butterfly — often  places  me  nearer  its 
essence  than  Wordsworth  does.  But  perhaps  those  really 
understand  Nature  the  best — or  at  least  in  the  best  way 
— who  come  as  men  from  amongst  men ;  not  scholars, 
philosophers,  and  dreamers,  but  those  who  come  from 
the  occupations,  activities,  littlenesses,  and  greatnesses, 
as  they  exist  now  on  Mart  and  Change,  in  City,  Town 


WILLIAM  DAVIES  227 

and  village — who  come  from  the  regions  in  which 
men  talk  of  corn  and  beef,  politics  and  railway  shares. 
I  refer  to  such  as  Burns,  Milton,  Shakespeare,  and 
even  Tennyson ;  who,  writing  the  most  exquisite  and 
accomplished  aesthetic  poetry,  do  not  seem  to  limit 
themselves  to  the  mere  vocation  of  poet,  and  whose 
works  bear  internal  evidence  of  their  being  men  whose 
vigour  shoots  out  (or  might  shoot  out)  in  many  and 
various  directions.  It  is  Wordsworth's  oneness,  in  fact, 
which  gives  somewhat  the  aspect  of  photographs  to  his 
pictures— pictures  done  by  a  brain-machine,  ra,ther  than 
by  the  living  hand  of  a  glowing  soul,  alive  to  beauty, 
glory,  and  loveliness  in  every  direction.  I  really  don't 
know  whether  I  am  stating  mere  prejudice  or  idiosyn- 
crasy, and  not  broad  and  general  truth  ;  but  of  this  you 
must  form  your  own  conclusion.' 


*  Warrington :  June  20, 1863. 
'  «  «  #  «  # 

*  Mr.  Smetham  accompanied  me  to  the  Isle  of  Wight, 
where  a  little  sketching,  sea-bathing,  and  fresh  air 
brought  some  tone  back  to  my  relaxed  physique,  and 
closed  my  brief  sojourn.  Believe  me,  there  is  nothing  I 
should  like  more  than  to  accompany  you,  on  your  sacred 
pilgrimage  ^ ;  but  I  cannot.  I  confess  to  you  that  I  do 
not  like  to  think  of  how  much  that  is  ennobling,  and 
soothing,  I  miss ;  if  I  do,  I  strive  to  console  myself  with 

'  To  the  Wordsworth  country. 

q3 


228  EETEOSPECTS 

the  fact  that  something  must  always  be  missed,  and  that 
this  is  only  another  unit  to  that  something  : 

There's  somewhat  flows  to  us  in  life, 
But  more  is  taken  quite  away. 

A  strange  consolation,  that  a  man  should  console 
himself  for  the  loss  of  the  cupful  with  the  thought  of 
the  fact  that  he  cannot  reach  the  fountain !  and  yet  that 
is  the  only  one  available  to  me. 

*  I  think  I  told  you  that  it  was  Wordsworth  who  first 
ushered  me  into  the  realm  of  the  poetry  of  Nature  when 
I  was  a  mere  boy.  To  him  I  am  deeply  indebted  ;  so  that 
in  all  my  generalisations  concerning  him  I  reserve  the 
respect  and  reverence  which  belongs  to  everything  he 
did  and  said.  I  fully  believe  the  critic's  art  is  detri- 
mental to  all  true  enjoyment,  and  this  makes  me  very 
careful  of  forming  merely  critical  opinions  on  what  is 
truly  excellent  and  noble.  If  you  go  into  Cumberland  you 
will  understand  Wordsworth  much  better.  Find  out  the 
lonely  hill  tarns,  the  nooks  and  corners  which  are  only 
voiceful  in  solitude,  and  I  think  you  need  scarcely  miss 
a  companion. 

*The  dramatic  power,  quiet  in  its  vastness  and 
easy  in  its  intensity,  possessed  by  Robert  Browning  is 
something  wonderful.  It  is  many  years  since  I  read 
his  poems.  Some  of  those  you  mention,  however, 
I  recollect  as  being  particular  favourites,  from  which 
I  wrote  extracts  at  the  time  of  reading  them.  I  agree 
with  you  that  he  is  finer  as  a  lyrist,  or  in  his  pictur- 
esque abstractions,  than  as  a  writer  of  well-rounded  and 


WILLIAM  DAVIES  229 

complete  drama,  but  that  is  due  in  a  great  measure  to 
his  power  in  the  latter  direction,  which  yet  lacks  the 
outwardness  to  make  him  a  Shakespeare. 

*  Whilst  I  enter  fully  into  the  importance  of  your  work, 
its  necessity  and  its  results,  let  me  beg  of  you  not  to 
devote  yourself  too  closely  to  mental  labour.  Surely 
God  wishes  the  whole  man  nourished,  physical,  moral, 
intellectual.  The  loss  of  health  I  consider  to  be  a  very 
serious  misfortune,  and  one  which  we  should  by  all 
means  avoid,  if  only  as  a  matter  of  policy. 

*  I  should  be  glad  to  see  your  letters  on  Colenso,^  if 
you  have  them  in  compact  form,  which  you  might  either 
bring  when  you  come,  or  send  and  I  would  return  them. 
I  really  do  not  think  it  is  worth  your  while  to  enter  into 
the  controversy  at  all,  or  even  to  allude  to  it,  or  think  of 
it.  I  have  found  these  rules  save  me  from  much  useless 
trouble  and  perplexity.  I  advise  my  friends,  who  confer 
with  me  about  the  book,  to  go  on,  just  as  if  it  had  not 
been  written. 

*  I  have  received  copies  of  my  portrait  from  Silvy, 
for  whom  I  stood  when  in  London.  I  consider  him  to 
be  by  far  the  best  photographer  of  all  those  whose  work 
I  have  yet  seen.  His  portraits  are  pictures,  and  valu- 
able even  on  that  account.  I  send  you  prints  of  the 
two  positions  in  which  I  stood,  in  order  that  you  may 
keep  the  one  ypu  think  most  characteristic.  .  .  . 


In  returning  from  London,  I  made  the  acquaintance 

'  A  series  contributed  to  Tlie  Dmidee  Advertiser,  in  1863. 


230  KETKOSPECTS 

of  some  truly  noble  and  excellent  young  ladies,  living 
in  Warwickshire  —  which  could  scarcely  be  called 
acquaintanceship  before,  as  I  had  only  seen  one  of  them 
for  an  hour  three  years  ago.  She  called  at  our  house 
here  one  evening,  with  one  of  my  friends.  Accident 
led  us  into  correspondence,  which  has  been  maintained 
more  or  less  fitfully  ever  since.  In  response  to  frequent 
invitations  I  called  and  spent  a  night  last  Wednesday, 
found  an  intelligent  and  characteristic  circle  of  a  widow 
and  three  daughters,  living  at  a  manorial  farm-house, 
hushed  and  silent  in  trees  and  pastures.  One  of  them 
had  been  with  Mr.  Davis,  in  his  recent  explorations  of 
ancient  Carthage  ;  one,  who  was  married,  sang  with  the 
skill  and  feeling  of  an  Albani  or  a  Patti  (nay,  certainly 
transcended  the  latter),  whilst  the  third,  who  confessed 
herself  to  be  without  a  single  "  accomplishment,"  kept 
the  house  alive  with  a  force  of  character  scarcely  less 
original  and  energetic  than  that  of  Shirley,  who,  indeed, 
appeared  no  fiction  beside  her.  Good  and  noble  women 
(young)  are  so  rare  that  to  find  such  in  a  natural 
atmosphere,  where  friendship  may  be  entered  into  and 
fully  enjoyed  without  difficulty  or  misunderstanding,  is 
a  registered  event  in  life,  the  importance  of  which  can 
hardly  be  overrated.  Of  Dora  Greenwell  I  hear  or  see 
nothing,  except  now  and  then  a  fragment  in  Good 
Words,  No  doubt  she  is  active  enough  in  some  un- 
known mine,  whence  she  will  eventually  rise  to  give  her 
friends  greeting  and  good-bye.' 


WILLIAM  DAVIES  231 

*  Warrington  :  March  25,  1864. 

***** 

*  There  is  no  possible  "  Church  "  into  which  you 
can  enter  in  which  you  will  not  have  to  concede  a  good 
deal  of  personal  views  and  feelings,  if  you  wish  to  be  of 
any  use  in  that  vocation.  I  am  quite  convinced  for  my- 
self that  the  Christian  religion  is  a  progressive  one, 
that  the  true  follower  of  Christ  must  act  as  He  would 
have  acted  now  ;  not  merely  following  the  line  and 
letter  of  eighteen  hundred  years  ago ;  and  if  you  ask 
me  how  you  are  to  know  under  these  circumstances  what 
is  the  right  course  of  action,  I  cannot  say  one  word 
more  than  this,  that  being  Christian  you  ought  to  know ; 
or  for  what  earthly,  or  super- earthly,  purpose  was  that 
large  "  spirit  of  truth  "  promised  and  bestowed  ?  The 
Church  of  England  is  a  large  and  enlightened  Institu- 
tion ;  and,  partly  through  indifference,  and  partly  on 
account  of  the  number  of  the  best  educated — therefore 
most  tolerant — men  and  women  who  are  in  it,  is 
extremely  liberal  in  its  religious  sentiment.  Neverthe- 
less, to  a  "  yearning  spirit  "  that  is  vivified  and  vitalised 
from  within,  and  drinks  continually  of  the  wide  and 
deep  sea  of  Truth,  feeling  the  Divine  Fire  glowing  and 
scintillating  around,  as  he  progresses  step  by  step,  it 
may  not  be  wide  enough.  I  fear  that  almost  none  of 
the  Churches  recognise  the  Truth  unless  it  be  clothed 
in  the  old  conventionalisms,  and  sometimes  brought 
down  to  the  level  of  pagan  capacities,  hung  about  with 
the  old  phylacteries,  Urim  and  Thummim. 

*  But  one  must  recollect  that  in  Religion  we  are  not 


232  EETKOSPECTS 

called  upon  to  live  the  life,  and  work  out  the  views  and 
sentiments,  of  a  hundred  years  hence ;  any  more  than 
we  are  to  live  civilly  and  socially  as  under  a  system  of 
laws  which  the  world  is  not  yet  advanced  enough  to 
understand.  To  be  of  use  in  his  generation  a  man 
must  submit  to  the  religious  and  social  forms  of  his 
time,  i,e,  if  they  are  not  erroneous,  but  only  fall  short  of 
the  most  complete  and  extended  truth.  He  must  accept 
these,  live  in  them,  and  work  under  them,  making  the 
best  use  he  can  of  the  material  at  his  command. 

#  #  #  *  « 

*  But  I  do  not  think  it  is  easy  to  live  the  right  kind 
of  religious  life  in  the  broad  sense  of  a  teacher,  unless 
there  is  some  certainty  as  to  worldly  competence. 

*  «  #  *  ♦ 

*  I  cannot  tell  you,  as  one  of  my  friends,  with  how 
much  weariness  I  have  laboured  at  an  occupation  per- 
fectly uncongenial  to  me  for  so  many  years  of  my  life, 
keeping  steadily  in  view  (unless  I  had  married,  which 
would  have  consecrated  and  redeemed  it  perhaps)  a  final 
severance  from  it.  The  moment  has  now  come  when  I 
feel  myself  perfectly  free  to  choose  my  occupations, 
though  wealth  has  been  denied  me.  I  have  already 
made  arrangements  to  leave  here  at  midsummer,  the 
beginning  of  July.  I  shall  probably  then  spend  a  few 
weeks  in  London,  Switzerland,  &c.,  and  endeavour  to 
reach  Italy  before  the  ensuing  winter.  I  can  hardly 
believe  in  the  near  prospect  of  the  object  of  all  my 
earthly  longings :  Liberty,  Sunshine,  Art,  Nature,  and 
the  power  to  labour  at  such  Work  as  I  love,  without 


WILLIAM  DAVIES  233 

domination  of  the  external  in  any  way  whatsoever.  My 
prospects,  however,  take  a  somewhat  sober  interest  from 
the  uncertainty  of  all  human  plans,  and  the  unseen 
shoals  that  lie  along  the  sea  of  life.  That  I  have 
acted,  and  am  acting,  rightly  in  my  plans  I  have  not 
the  least  shadow  of  a  doubt ;  and  I  believe  I  never  shall 
have,  whether  they  are  fully  carried  out  or  not. 
***** 

*  I  ought,  perhaps,  to  say  to  you  that  I  do  not  con- 
template a  perpetual  banishment  from  England  ;  as  I 
always  think,  if  life  lasts,  I  shall  ultimately  reside  in 

London,  which  is  the  most  eclectic  place  in  the  world. 

***** 

*  Blake's  illustrations  to  Blair's  Grave  are  quite 
wonderful  in  their  power  and  originality.  Some  of  his 
works  exhibit  the  surpassing  grasp  and  magnificence  of 
Michael  Angelo.  .  .  . 

*  Though  his  drawings  are  frequently  inadequate,  his 
conceptions  and  the  strange  weird  force  with  which  they 
are  portrayed  are  almost  as  far  out  of  the  reach  of 
praise  as  they  are  of  criticism.  His  illustrations  to 
The  Book  of  Job,  and  to  the  Prophetic  Books,  you 
ought  to  see.  By  the  way,  some  of  his  poems  in  the 
Songs  of  Innocence,  and  Songs  of  Experience,  are  just 
as  remarkable  as  his  designs.  Woolner's  My  Beautiful 
Lady  is  a  very  exquisite  poem.  I  have  just  finished 
reading  it.  There  is  a  passage  in  it  that  I  have  appro- 
priated as  mine  prospectively : 

A  world  of  beauty 
Where  love  moves  ever  hand  in  hand  with  duty, 
And  life,  a  long  aspiring  pilgrimage. 
Makes  labour  but  a  pastime  of  delight. 


234  EETKOSPECTS 

*  I  often  think  the  experience  of  the  old  Israelites  is 
a  type  exactly  true  of  the  ordinary  course  of  that  life 
which  acknowledges  the  superior  guidance  and  power  of 
the  highest  laws  (or  God).  Bondage,  Struggle,  Freedom. 
All  of  these,  though  sometimes  failing  altogether,  are 
true  in  the  broad,  though  I  have  not  yet  succeeded  in 
establishing  a  perfect  Philosophy  of  Life  in  the  abstract. 
Goethe  says  that  "Whatever  a  man  wishes  in  youth  he 
shall  have  enough  of  in  old  age  "  ;  and  this  is  a  saying 
that  tends  in  the  same  way,  having  a  broad  basis  of 
truth,  though  by  no  means  universally  true.  May  you 
and  I  at  least  find  it  true  to  us. 

*  Thanks  for  your  two  papers.  I  have  not  heard  from 
Dora  Greenwell  for  many  a  day.  She  is  one  of  the  most 
fitful  persons  I  ever  knew. 

*  *  «  m  « 

*  If  you  can  get  a  sight  of  Gustave  Dore's  Illustra- 
tions to  Dante's  Inferno,  do  so ;  as,  though  some  of 
them  are  meretricious  and  of  doubtful  art,  there  is  great 
graphic  and  picturesque  power  in  them  as  a  whole.' 

Nearly  thirty  years  later,  after  many  vicissitudes  on 
both  sides,  the  following  letters  reached  me  : 

'  Baycliffe,  Lymm,  Cheshire :  September  13,  1892. 

*  I  reached  this  place  more  than  a  month  ago,  after 
a  tedious  journey,  from  which,  however,  I  suffered  no- 
thing worse  than  fatigue. 

*A11  I  can  do  is  to  school  myself  day  by  day  to 
submit  to  the  teaching  and  discipline  of  life,  and  in  this 
I  have  a  large  faith,  though  it  is  difficult  to  keep  such 


WILLIAM  DAVIES  285 

faith  unobscured.  Surely  there  must  be  something  for 
the  soul,  so  high  in  its  instincts,  so  far-seeing  in  its 
perceptions,  beyond  the  reach  and  uses  of  the  body,  the 
burden  of  which  at  present  oppresses  me  so  sorely.  If 
we  are  born  into  this  world  to  get  rid  of  the  slavery 
of  sense,  and  all  that  pertains  to  the  mortal  condition, 
as  some  creeds  direct  us  to  believe,  surely  it  can  be  no 
sin  to  wish  and  long  for  that  period  when  we  shall  lay 
all  wants  down,  and  rest— even  if  it  imply  the  relin- 
quishing of  personality — in  larger  being.  I,  for  one, 
fully  recognise  and  accept  the  Vedantic  position  that  this 
life  is  but  the  gate  to  Infinite  Being,  an  evolution  from 
the  lower  to  the  higher. 

#  #  *  *  ♦ 
*With  your  Wordsworth  devotion  I  warmly  sym- 
pathise.   I  read  him  again  last  winter  with  increased 
respect,  and  love  for  his  fine  intuition,  his  keen  spiritual 
perceptions  and  elevated  wisdom. 

#  #  f  #  ♦ 

*  By  the  way,  you  might  think  from  my  allusion  to 
the  "  Vedantic  position  "  that  I  am  anti-Christian.  That 
is  not  so.  I  am  Christian  indeed,  but  with  a  much 
wider  interpretation  than  is  given  to  Christianity  by 
the  "Churches."  It — Christianity — is  a  Divine  and 
Eternal  Voice,  but  not  the  only  one  spoken.  That  has 
never  been  silent  in  the  world's  history.' 

#  #  ♦  *  * 

'  Lymm,  Cheshire  ;  October  21,  1892. 

#  *  *  #  * 

*  The  worst  that  I  have  had  to  endure  during  my  ill- 


236  EETKOSPECTS 

ness  has  been  a  restless  nervousness,  coming  upon  me 
at  intervals,  which  I  have  not  been  able  to  control.  It 
attacks  resolution  itself  at  the  citadel,  so  that  the  power 
to  resist  it  is  crushed. 


*An  illness  like  mine  reveals  many  things  to  the 
soul.  One  is  the  vast  difference  between  theoretic  or 
unpractised  Religion  and  Philosophy,  and  experimental. 
My  conclusion  is  that  we  learn  nothing  from  theory, 
and  that  is  the  reason  why  life  is  so  hard  a  school. 
Everything  of  value  to  us  must  be  a  suffered  experience  ; 
otherwise,  little  or  nothing  is  acquired.  All  evolution  is 
through  suffering,  and  there  is  no  other  mode  of  advance- 
ment and  progress.  That  is  my  discovery.  It  explains 
many  things.  Perhaps,  if  we  only  knew  the  value  of  our 
pains,  we  should  not  wish  to  have  them  removed ;  so 
much  as  to  receive  the  full  benefit  and  advantage  of 
them.' 


•  Baycliffe,  Lymm,  Cheshire  :  January  31, 1893. 
*  #  *  «  * 

*I  have  been  accustomed  to  the  life  of  cities  for 
many  years,  so  that  I  find  the  country  somewhat  dull. 
There  is  nobody  here  who  is  at  all  interested  in  my  own 
pursuits,  and  I  confess  I  feel  intellectually  lost.  The 
nearest  city  is  the  county  town,  Chester.  It  is  an 
interesting  old  place,  and  I  have  some  idea  of  re- 
moving thither.  It  would  at  least  give  me  the  chance 
of  wider  interests,  and  possibly  of  some  usefulness.    The 


WILLIAM  DAVIES  237 

truth  is,  I  am  spoiled  for  an  indifferent  and  common- 
place life.  I  was  the  centre  of  an  intellectual  circle  of 
remarkable  people  of  high  intelligence  and  attainments 
in  Kome.  My  illness  was  marked  by  a  display  of  warm 
kindness  from  the  colony  of  foreigners  there,  which  was 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  things  in  my  life.  It  is  one 
of  the  mysteries  of  existence  that  I  should  have  been 
flung  out  of  what  seemed  so  exactly  my  position  and 
vocation,  to  be  cast  into  a  spiritual  desert.  In  my 
present  condition  I  cannot   return.    I  can  only  wait, 

wait,  wait.' 

*  ♦  ♦  *  # 

*  Lymm,  Cheshire  :  February  7,  1893. 

♦  #  ♦  *  # 

*  I  thought  of  going  to  Chester  from  an  inward  lead- 
ing. I  cannot  but  think  I  have  been  brought  from  Italy 
for  some  ulterior  reason  not  yet  apparent.  I  am  longing 
to  be  of  some  use  or  help  to  somebody  in  this  world,  and 
had  thought  that  in  such  a  city  as  Chester  I  might  find 
something  of  a  vocation.  I  am  pretty  well  acquainted 
with  Italian  literature  throughout,  and  am  sufficiently 
well  up  in  my  Dante.  I  thought  I  might  perhaps  gather 
about  me  a  few  studious  folks  who  would  be  glad  to 
have  readings  with  me  in  an  informal  way,  either  in 
that  or  some  other  direction  within  my  reach.  Possibly 
your  promise  of  an  introduction — for  which  I  heartily 
thank  you  anyway — to  Mrs.  Sandford  might  give  me  just 
such  an  opening  as  I  am  wishing  for.' 


238  EETKOSPECTS 

'  78  Watergate  Street,  Chester  :  April  24, 1893. 

***** 

*  I  have  only  read  Wordsworth's  prose  works  occa- 
sionally and  incidentally.  It  is  either  my  fault,  or  his, 
that  they  have  never  taken  much  hold  of  me.  It  has 
always  appeared  strange  to  me  that  form  should  be,  in 
so  many  cases,  so  important  an  element  with  many 
writers.  Some  time  ago  Euskin's  poems  were  sent  to 
me.  I  was  quite  disappointed  with  them.  Not  a  single 
line  impressed  itself  on  my  mind.  This  is  altogether 
unaccountable  to  me,  when  the  vivid  grace  and  colouring 
of  his  prose  are  remembered,  I  always  feel  the  same 
relatively  in  regard  to  Wordsworth's  prose,  compared 
with  his  verse. 

***** 

*  Your  interest  in  the  Vedanta  scheme  pleases 
me.  I  should  very  much  like  to  inaugurate  something 
from  the  scientific  not  "  theosophic  "  (that  much  abused 
word  !)  point  of  view,  and  I  shall  try.  My  attitude  in 
regard  to  these  writings  is  that  they  reveal  the  primary 
and  fundamental  principle  of  all  Keligion,  that  this  is 
and  always  has  been  the  same,  and  that  by  penetrating 
the  depths  of  the  soul  we  find  a  response  to  its  appeal 
to-day  as  clear  and  distinct  as  ever  it  was  ;  and  that  this 
response  is  the  Truth.' 


*  Chester  :  January  3, 1895. 
♦  *  #  *  * 

*I  am  deeply  glad  that  you  have  found  anything 


WILLIAM  DAVIES  239 

congenial  in  my  little  book.^  It  contains  things  I  have 
long  wished  to  say,  and  I  hope  it  may  be  helpful  to 
others. 

*  The  Buddhist  says  you  are  to  make  the  path  you 
travel,  and  perhaps  that  is  the  reason  that  we  walk  so 
much  alone,  in  order  that  we  may  be  as  self-dependent 
as  possible.  Still  one  misses  companionship  ;  for,  as 
Solomon  says,  "  As  iron  sharpeneth  iron,  so  the  face  of 
a  man  his  friend  !  " 

*  As  to  your  exposition  of  "  Indian  Philosophy,"  I  feel 
if  I  were  well  we  might  possibly  accomplish  it  together.^ 
I  grasp  the  Oriental  essential  principles  so  closely  that 
they  are  perfectly  luminous  to  me  on  the  whole.  But 
my  knowledge  of  them  is  not  academic ;  and  I  do  not 
know  Sanscrit,  or  any  Oriental  tongue,  excepting  scraps 
and  words  necessary  for  precision  of  comprehension. 


'One  of  my  articles  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly  was 
on  the  "  Tao  "  of  the  Chinese.  A  former  missionary  in 
China  for  seventeen  years,  a  lecturer  on  Chinese  Eeligion 
and  Philosophy,  wrote  to  say  that  I  had  given  the  best 
exposition  of  the  essential  principles  of  Taoism  he  had 
ever  seen ;  which  was  flattering  and  perhaps  true,  as 
there  are  so  few  who  look  upon  the  Eeligions  and 
Philosophies  of  the  old  world  as  other  than  curiosities — 

'  The  Pilgrim  of  the  Infinite. 

2  This  referred  to  a  series  of  books  on  '  Philosophy  in  its  National 
Developments,'  which  will  be  referred  to  in  a  later  volume  of  BetrospectSy 
on  Max  Miiller  and  others.    I  had  asked  Mr.  Davies  to  co-operate. 


240  KETEOSPECTS 

a  mistake,  for  the  best  of  them  contain  something  more 
than  the  nucleus  of  the  highest  religious  conception. 

*  I  am  obliged,  however,  to  confess  that  I  do  not 
think  the  present  age  has  any  special  interest  in 
Religion,  as  such — and  cares  even  too  little  for  the  one 
it  professes  to  follow — to  have  a  vital  interest  in  the 
wonderful  revelations  of  the  past.  In  your  proposed 
examination  of  Hindu  religions,  I  imagine  the  only 
point  of  interest  to  the  public  will  be  an  historic  or 
academic  one.  Max  Miiller  is  the  only  man  known  to 
me  who  is  able  to  write  it.  Although  I  feel  I  have  gained 
more  from  the  study  of  his  labours  than  he  has  himself 
acquired.  Perhaps  that  is  pure  conceit,  but  still  it  is  a 
humble  conceit ;  for  I  am  most  grateful  for,  and  appre- 
ciative of,  all  I  have  learned. 

*  Excuse  my  garrulous  wanderings.  I  think  that  you 
are  sitting  by  my  fire  in  veritable  presence,  and  enjoying 
an  unconventional  chat.' 


*  Chester :  June  27, 1895. 

***** 

*  Your  prospectus  of  proposed  Philosophical  Publica- 
tions ^  is  very  interesting  to  me.  It  is,  to  my  mind,  just 
what  is  wanted  ;  but  I  must  confess  that  I  have  looked 
in  vain  for  a  public  for  such  a  scheme.  It  seems  to  me 
that  modern  Philosophy  will  have  nothing  of  the  old — 
may  I  say  worn-out — lines  revivified,  and  hates  every 
light  but  that  of  its  own  kindling;   whereas  the  true 

^  See  the  last  note. 


WILLIAM  DAVIES  241 

light  often  lies  without  the  limits  of  accepted  systems. 
I  think  Max  Miiller  has  shown  this  very  clearly  in  his 
exposition  of  Oriental  modes  of  thought,  and  some  of 
their  conclusions.  Max  Miiller  is  our  best  exponent  of 
the  Vedantic  systems,  and  Ehys  Davids  of  the  Buddhist 
ones.  The  lectures  entitled  Theosophy,  or  Psychologi- 
cal BeligioTit  of  the  former  give  the  best  resume  of 
Oriental  philosophical,  or  religio-philosophical,  thought 
that  I  know.  Though  Ancient  India  had  a  distinct 
school  (or  schools)  of  philosophy  pm-e  and  simple,  that  of 
Kapila  was  probably  the  most  remarkable,  or  perhaps 
I  ought  to  say,  wonderful.  I  fear  Europe  is  not  yet 
ready  to  receive  these  advanced  philosophies,  though 
I  feel  assured  that  their  day  has  come.  Max  Miiller 
will  tell  you  that  their  logical  power,  and  penetrative 
insight,  far  exceed  our  own.  They  certainly  do  so  to 
me.  Your  effort  "  to  make  the  esoteric  of  the  Schools 
exoteric  to  the  many "  is  a  very  noble  one,  but  of  its 
result  I  dare  not  prophesy.  "  There  are  two  classes  of 
men,"  says  an  Oriental  sage,  "  who  are  difficult  to  teach, 
the  very  wise,  and  the  very  ignorant."  He  is  right,  and 
I  think  one  may  reach  the  latter  almost  more  readily 
than  the  former  with  a  new  thing,  a  thing  off  the  old 

lines. 

Whatever  you  do,  may  it  prosper ! 

*  If  you  would  like  my  Songs,  a  card  will  bring  them 
after  a  little  time,  as  I  do  not  know  exactly  where  to 
find  them ;  but  I  know  they  are  somewhere  in  the  solar 
system  !  and  I  will  institute  a  search.' 


B 


242  EETKOSPECTS 

'  Chester :  August  12, 1895. 
*  *  #  *  # 

*  I  know  your  life  must  be  often  overcrowded.  .  .  . 
If  I  interpret  your  proclivities  aright,  they  would  lead 
you  to  that  condition  of  "  learned  leisure  "  which  loves 
to  work  without  the  pressure  of  haste,  leaving  you 
hours  of  easeful  reflection  and  the  orderly  adjustment  of 
things.  I  wish  I  had  such  a  commodity  of  desiderata 
to  bestow.  I  would  immediately  make  out  to  you  a 
sufficiently  large  grant  of  the  same ! 

*  I  forward  you  my  little  book  of  verses  of  the  Long 
Ago.^  It  is  immature  in  a  sense,  and  there  is  much  in 
it  I  should  now  exclude.  Still,  I  feel  its  basis  is  mainly 
right  in  principle,  and  though  I  would  exclude  a  moiety 
of  what  I  have  written,  it  is  not  because  I  would  depre- 
cate the  records  of  a  developing  age.  I  have  expanded, 
I  hope  indefinitely  in  many  directions,  since  those  lines 
were  written  ;  but  I  feel  that  it  is  in  a  great  degree 
upon  foundations  there  indicated  that  I  have  found  my 
bases,  and  grown.  Therefore,  as  regards  myself,  I  say 
let  it  stand.  I  often  think  one's  early  writings  should 
be  looked  upon  in  the  manner  of  Novalis.    He  says : 

* "  I  treat  my  writings  as  a  mental  education.  They 
teach  me  to  reflect,  and  work  out  my  own  ideas.  That 
is  all  I  expect  from  them." 

'This  is  very  much  the  case  with  myself.  It  is 
certainly  compensatory  for  the  missing  of  every  other 
mark.' 

If:  *  #  *  * 

'  His  Songs  of  a  Wayfarer. 


WILLIAM  DAVIES  243 

*  Chester :  December  11,  1895. 

#  *  *  *  * 

*  I  do  not  regret  the  lapse  of  time  which  brings  me 
nearer  to  the  next  stage  of  being,  for  I  often  get  heartily 
weary  and  tired  of  this.  Yet  I  try  to  subdue  impatience 
as  far  as  I  am  able.  "  Life  is  a  mystery,"  says  an  Italian 
poet,  *'  which  is  only  explained  at  its  close."  I  see  this, 
and  accept  life  as  educational  in  the  largest  sense  of  the 
term,  and  I  await  its  explication.  Placed  beyond  the 
boundary,  the  activities  and  energies  of  material  life, 
many  aspects  are  revealed  to  me,  which  remove  me 
from  this  sphere,  and  give  me  a  wider  outlook.  Such 
elevated  views,  or  points  of  view,  men  for  the  most  part 
do  not  gain,  or  want  to  gain :  but  they  are  there  for 
those  whose  way  leads  them  thither.  Some  of  them 
I  have  found.' 

*  *  #  #  # 

I  think  that  in  William  Davies'  Songs  of  a  Way- 
farer there  will  be  found  some  of  the  most  remark- 
able minor  poems  of  the  nineteenth  century.  His 
Bules  of  a  Bight  Life,  his  poem  entitled  May,  his 
Goodly  Bays  of  Old,  and  his  sonnets  on  Santa  Maria 
dal  Fiore  at  Florence  and  on  A  Fountain  in  the 
Campagna  of  Borne,  are  noteworthy  products  of  a 
genius  that  instinctively  divined  what  was  beautiful 
and  right. 

During  his  later  years,  and  his  retirement  at 
Chester,  he  was  able  to  a  certain  extent  to  revive  the 
work  he  did  so  beneficially  at  Kome,  during  his  prime. 
He  fostered  the  study  of  Dante,  in  a  small  circle  of 

?*2 


244  EETEOSPECTS 

devoted  persons ;  and,  with  still  more  delightful 
results,  he  founded  a  small  select  society  for  the 
study  of  the  philosophy  of  India.  Mrs.  Sandford,  the 
author  of  Thomas  Poole  and  his  Friends,  and  Judge 
Hughes,  author  of  Tom  Brown's  School  Days,  were 
then  living  in  Chester ;  and  both  of  them  were  deeply 
interested  in  William  Davies,  and  his  work.  Mrs. 
Sandford  in  particular  attended  his  weekly  readings  and 
expositions  of  the  Vedas  and  Upanishads.  It  was  noble 
work  done  in  comparative  obscurity,  for  one  of  his 
practical  mottoes  was  *  in  quietness  and  confidence  shall 
be  your  strength.' 


245 


JAMES  SMETHAM 

James  Smetham— an  original  and  distinctive  artist, 
a  poet,  and  a  remarkable  letter-writer — was  born  at 
Pateley  Bridge,  Yorkshire,  in  1821.  He  was  a  man  of 
singularly  beautiful  character,  touched  with  the  rarest 
idealism,  and  was  a  friend  of  Euskin  and  of  Dante 
Rossetti.  Many  of  his  letters  were  collected,  and  edited 
with  a  prefatory  memoir  by  William  Davies — to  whom 
the  previous  chapter  of  this  book  is  devoted — in  1892. 
Those  which  are  issued  now  have  not  before  been 
published.  In  1854  Mr.  Ruskin  asked  him  to  write 
down  some  particulars  of  his  early  years.  From  this 
paper  I  made  some  extracts.  *  I  have  a  distinct 
remembrance,'  he  wrote,  'of  the  ecstasy  with  which, 
when  at  the  age  of  two  years,  I  regarded  the  distant 
blueness  of  the  hills,  and  saw  the  laurels  shake  in  the 
wind,  and  felt  it  lift  my  hair.'  At  the  age  of  fifteen  he 
was  articled  to  Mr.  E.  J.  Willson,  Lincoln,  who  wrote 
the  literary  part  of  Pugin's  Examples  of  Gothic 
Architecture,  *  He  set  me  to  draw  all  the  figures  about 
the  Minster.  I  spent  a  grand  solitary  year  at  this  work. 
With  a  key  to  myself  I  poked  about  every  corner  at  all 
hours,  and  twice  a  day  heard  the  organ-music  and  the 
choristers'  singing  roll  about  among  the  arches.    I  sat 


246  EETKOSPECTS 

on  the  warm  leads  of  the  roof,  and  looked  over  the  Fens, 
and  dreamed  and  mused  hours  away  there,  and  then 
came  down  over  the  arches  of  the  choir,  and  drew  the 
angels  drumming  and  fiddling  in  the  spandrels.  .  .  .  But 
I  fretted  my  soul,  because  I  wanted  to  be  a  painter.'  At 
the  end  of  three  years  his  indentures  as  architect's 
clerk  were  cancelled.  *  I  was  thus  thrown  on  the  world 
by  my  own  act  and  deed,  and  with  very  little  practice 
announced  myself  in  Shropshire  as  a  portrait-painter, 
getting  employment  at  once;  working  when  I  wanted 
money,  strolling  to  Build  was  and  Wenlock  and  Haigh- 
mond  Abbeys,  scrambling  to  the  top  of  the  Wrekin,  and 
wandering  in  lane,  meadow,  and  woodland.'  At  the  age 
of  twenty-two  he  went  to  London,  and  entered  as  a 
probationer  to  the  Koyal  Academy,  was  helped  by  John 
Philip  and  Edward  Burne- Jones,  who  *  told  him  not  to 
be  anxious,  for  in  or  out  of  the  Academy  he  would 
succeed.'  The  death  of  a  brother  greatly  unhinged  him. 
*  My  spirit  followed  him.  I  perceived  that  to  attain  to 
him  was  not  a  matter  of  fancy  or  speculation,  and  "  the 
commandment "  came  to  me.  A  complete  upheaval  and 
chaos  of  my  inward  life  followed,  and  I  fell  into  the 
"  Slough  of  Despond."  The  beauty  of  Nature  mocked  me, 
my  fancies  became  ghosts.  I  felt  my  discordances  with 
the  spiritual  truisms,  and  it  was  not  till  my  father  also 
died '  (he  was  a  Wesleyan  minister)  *  that  my  soul  was 
stilled,  and  set  in  order.'  ...  *  A  salutary  fear  shut  me  up 
in  a  happy  seclusion,  and  I  could  not  precipitate  myself 
into  the  battle  of  life  ;  so  I  went  on  painting  portraits, 
and   interspersing  them   with   fancy  pictures,  gaining 


JAMES   SMETHAM  247 

money  enough  to  keep  me,  and  then  snatching  a  month 
or  two  for  study ;  now  in  a  large  town,  now  in  a  little 
one,  now  in  a  remote  farm  painting  the  farmer  and  his 
family,  roaming  in  his  fields  and  by  the  edge  of  his 
plantations ;  then  in  London.' 

Smetham  not  only  practised  the  art  of  painting,  but 
carried  on  a  study  of  the  poets,  especially  of  Tennyson, 
and  made  many  delightful  marginal  illustrations  on 
the  edition  which  he  used — that  of  1843.  This  effort 
to  combine  the  study  of  Literature  with  devotion  to 
practical  philanthropy,  and  artistic  labour,  gave  an 
ethereality  and  ideality  to  his  work  ;  but  it  did  not  lead 
to  conventional  success,  or  *  getting  on '  in  his  vocation. 
However,  in  1861  he  wrote  : 

*  In  my  own  secret  heart  I  look  on  myself  as  one  who 
has  got  on,  and  got  to  his  goal,  as  one  who  has  got  some- 
thing a  thousand  times  better  than  a  fortune,  more  real, 
more  inward,  less  in  the  power  of  others,  less  variable, 
more  immortal,  more  eternal ;  as  one  whose  feet  are  on 
a  rock,  his  goings  established,  with  a  new  song  in  his 
mouth,  and  joy  on  his  head.' 

It  was  eleven  years  before  this,  in  1851,  when  he 
settled  in  London,  that  he  became  teacher  of  drawing  to 
the  students  of  the  (Methodist)  Normal  College,  West- 
minster. This  afforded  him  a  frugal  livelihood,  but 
it  was  necessary  to  add  to  it ;  and,  as  he  did  not 
succeed  in  the  sale  of  larger  pictures,  he  formed  the  plan 
of  etching  his  smaller  designs,  and  *  issuing  them 
quarterly  to  subscribers.*     Six  hundred  subscribed;  but 


248  EETEOSPECTS 

he  altered  his  plan,  issuing  instead  a  small  oil  or  water- 
colour  sketch  annually  to  each  member  of  a  circle  of 
forty,  for  which  he  charged  only  three  guineas  at  first ; 
afterwards,  when  the  size  was  greater  and  the  work 
more  elaborate,  nine  guineas.  As  allegorical  sketches 
these  were  admirable,  felicitous  in  design,  often  brilliant 
in  colour,  and  some  of  them  symbolic  of  his  own  life. 
Many  won  the  praise  of  Euskin,  of  G.  F.  Watts,  and 
of  Dante  Eossetti.  With  the  last  he  formed  a  strong 
friendship,  spending  every  Wednesday  in  his  studio,  paint- 
ing during  the  day,  seeing  friends  in  the  evening,  and 
remaining  till  next  morning.  After  his  death,  Eossetti 
wrote  of  his  pictures  to  his  widow  They  *  have  delighted 
and  astonished  me  by  their  extreme  beauty.  Indeed 
they  are,  in  colour,  sentiment,  and  nobility  of  thought, 
only  to  be  classed  with  the  very  flower  of  modern  art.' 

Mr.  Davies'  brief  Memoir  of  his  friend  must  be 
consulted  for  a  singularly  just  estimate  of  his  character 
with  its  '  intellectual  beauty  strangely  attractive,'  his 
conversational  powers,  the  literary  endowments  of  one 
to  whom  books  were 

a  substantial  world,  both  pure  and  good, 

the  *  atmosphere  of  subtle  intellectualism '  in  which  he 
breathed,  and  his  life-long  devotion  to  the  good  of  others. 

I  transcribe  parts  of  six  letters  to  me,  belonging  to 
the  years  1863,  1864,  and  1865  : 

♦  1  Park  Lane,  Stoke  Newington  :  September  6,  1863. 

#  4^  *  *  # 

*  It  gives  me  great  satisfaction  to  find  that  there  are 


JAMES   SMETHAM  249 

elements  in  my  volume  of  Etchings  which  give  you,  and 
your  friends,  any  pleasure  or  profit.  They  were  pub- 
lished among  a  circle,  on  the  whole,  not  quite  what 
I  could  have  desired,  but  they  have  in  some  instances 
found  their  way  a  little  outside  that  circle  into  a  few 
hands  in  which  I  would  wish  them  to  be  placed.  I  tried 
to  express  in  the  preface  some  idea  of  their  aim,  as 
compared  with  completer  works ;  but,  when  it  is 
necessary  to  do  this,  it  is  often  also  futile.  Since  their 
publication  I  have  found  (as  I  think)  an  agent  for 
pictorial  expression  much  more  complete,  and  certainly 
much  less  laborious.  I  cannot  do  better  than  enclose  a 
circular  which,  so  far  as  I  have  had  time  to  send  it  out 

has  been  successful  in  its  object. 

*  *  *  *  * 

*  The  "  Studies  "  named  in  it  bear  the  same  relation 
to  designs  that  etchings  do,  with  the  very  important 
addition  of  the  element  of  colour;  and,  as  they  are 
produced  in  a  twentieth  of  the  time,  they  afford  a  much 
more  ample  field  for  the  expression  of  what  Blake  used 
to  call  "  Inventions." 

*  *  *  #  * 

*  It  is  seldom  that  I  find  enough  genuine  interest  in 
Art  to  provoke  expression ;  and  it  is  a  joy  to  meet 
with  anyone  who,  being  drawn  to  it  by  mental  fitness, 
has  also  right  views  of  its  moral  relations.  On  the 
whole  I  have  lived  in  a  lonely  land,  in  regard  to  what 
Art  has  been  to  me,  and  what  I  think  it  ought  to  be  to 
man.  Mr.  Da  vies  may  have  told  you  that  I  am  a 
Methodist,  and  I  can  tell  you  that  I  am  well  content  to  be 


260  KETEOSPECTS 

one ;  but  I  have  to  deplore  that  to  be  at  once  artist  and 
methodist  is  a  puzzling  position  in  the  Universe,  which 
it  would  take  much  palaver  to  explain  with  sufficient 
clearness  and  pathos.' 


*  1  Park  Lane,  Stoke  Newington,  N. :  March  9, 1864. 

'Within  the  last  few  weeks  I  have  been  able  to 
resume  the  cherished  scheme  of  which  I  sent  you  an 
account ;  and  the  more  I  think  of  it,  and  carry  it  out, 
the  more  sure  I  am  that  I  have  at  last  discovered  my 
vocation,  a  point  of  the  utmost  importance  to  have  settled 
in  any  man's  life,  and  bringing  great  comfort  when  it  is 
found.  I  finished  my  large  picture  about  Christmas, 
and  shall  be  in  no  hurry  to  do  any  more  such  work, 
considering  that  in  the  same  time  I  might  have  embodied 
fifty  separate  ideas  able  to  be  dispersed  to  fifty  different 
centres  of  influence. 

*  I  wish  that  you  could  look  over  what  I  have  done. 
A  good  many  are  already  sold,  but  for  a  few  days  I  shall 
have  about  twenty  by  me,  framed  and  ready ;  and  it  is 
important  that  a  variety  of  them  should  be  seen  to 
catch  the  right  idea  of  what  I  am  setting  before  me. 

*  However,  you  can't  jump  from  Dundee  into  my 
studio ;  so  I  must  be  content  to  inform  you  that  I  have 
two  or  three  scriptural  subjects  among  them,  which  I 
fancy  you  would  like.' 

[It  is  impossible  adequately  to  reproduce  the  drawings 
which  followed.  The  letter-press  description  can  be 
given  and  rough  outline  sketches.] 


JAMES   SMETHAM 


251 


No.   1. — EZEKIEL  BY   ChEBAR. 


Sort  of  prismatic, 
wheel,  with 
shooting  rays 


Wniow  with  lamp 

hung  on  it  Dark  river 


Dark  sky  streaked 
with  red 

Four  captives 


Ezekiel— young,  face 
lifted  up,  white 
dress,  a  roll  in  his 
hand 


No.  2. — After  the  Earthquake,  a  Fire. 

star 


Black  robe,  whirled  by 
wind 


Branch  of  tree  by  whid 
Elijah  holds  on 


■Sort  of  flame-flower 


.Falling  stone  over  dark 
torrent 


Rolling  clouds 
Ledge  of  rock 


Tongue  of  flame  issuing  in  steam 


Line  of  breaking. 
Ught 


Large  stones  of 
brook 


No.  3. — Jabbok. 

Lurid  clouds 


Stem  bent  by  wind 


Boulder 


Jacob  Angel  in  dim  white 


252 


KETKOSPECTS 


No.  4. — The  Husbandman  hath  long  patience. 

Rooks 


Mist  hiding  UU- 
shoulder 


Rain-clouds  with 
gleam  on  horizon 


Dim  champaign 

Lines  of  faint 
springing  blades 


Man  in  smockfrock ;  light  catches  on  edge  of  figure 


No.  5. — Men  will  praise  thee  when  thou 

DOBST  well   to   THYSELF. 


Flatterers 


Clouds  to  vignette 
the  subject 


Young  man  of  fortune,  in  blue  robe,  in  the  costume  of  no  country,  and  illumined 
by  '  the  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land,'  with  bags  of  money 


No.  6.— 


f .        .         .   ,       ... 

g*al 

Gold  flap 


Title 

* 


JAMES   SMETHAM  253 

♦  1  Park  Lane,  Stoke  Newington,  N. :  April  1,  1864. 

*  I  have  been  from  home  a  good  deal,  endeavouring 
to  put  store  into  the  storehouse ;  either  by  taking  my 
sketch-book,  and  rambhng  by  farms  and  gardens,  and  in 
lanes  and  fields  ;  or  in  note-making  at  a  most  important 
exhibition  now  open  of  all  the  works  of  Mulready. 
Many  of  his  pictures  are  the  property  of  the  nation  ; 
these  I  can  study  at  any  time ;  but  many  of  his  best 
works  are  not  likely  to  be  brought  together  again  in  a 
hurry,  and  it  is  desirable  to  work  hard  at  them  with 
this  recollection  in  view.  One  room  is  devoted  to  his 
paintings ;  not  numerous,  but  unspeakably  elaborate, 
and  perfect  in  execution.  Another  room  is  full  of  the 
sketches  and  drawings  made  for  them.  These,  to  a 
professor  of  the  art,  are  enchanting.  I  suppose  it  is  not 
possible  to  share  the  delight  it  gives  to  have  before  you, 
at  one  view,  the  key  to  a  man's  mental  processes  in  a 
department  where  you  yourself  are  a  worker.  "  How- 
ever did  the  man  do  this  ?  "  is  the  natural  exclamation 
on  the  sight  of  a  work  finished  such  as  his  are.  Here 
the  veil  is  drawn  aside,  and  you  see  that,  like 

all  the  Muse's  heavenly  lays, 
With  toil  of  spirit  it  is  dearly  bought. 

*  The  first  hesitating  notes  are  struck  with  pen  and 
ink,  in  a  sketch  two  inches  long,  on  an  old  envelope 
scrap.  This  is  taken  up  in  a  higher  mood  on  another 
larger  scrap,  and  has  a  touch  of  shading  in  it.  Then  it 
is  enlarged  to  six  inches,  and  a  vague  general  effect  of 
composition  and  posture  is  realised,  and  you  feel  that 


254  KETKOSPECTS 

the  man  has  hold  of  his  idea.  He  proceeds  to  do  a 
coloured  sketch  in  oil,  or  water-colour ;  and  at  this 
stage  he  abandons  fancy,  and  turns  to  Nature,  drawing 
each  part — hand,  foot,  elbow,  knee — direct  from  life, 
with  unwearied  care ;  sometimes  resuming  all  these 
studies  in  one  large  black-and-red  chalk  drawing,  as  a 
Cartoon.  Then  he  steals  touch  by  touch  on  his 
canvas,  or  panel,  into  the  life  of  the  finished  subject. 
It  would  be  well  if  the  youth  of  eighteen,  who  is  so  im- 
patient of  toil,  could  see  these  heavy  discounts  which  have 
to  be  paid  before  the  riches  of  the  palette  are  realised. 

*  There  is  no  touch  of  mere  "  cleverness "  about 
these  strong  men.  If  you  examine  any  of  these  pen- 
and-ink  drawings  you  find  them  composed  of  five  or  six 
separate  pieces  of  paper — pasted  or  inserted — where  the 
"  relish  "  of  the  subject  has  been  lost :  and  a  bit  the 
size  of  a  sixpence  is  pasted  where  a  head  has  not 
"come,"  as  it  ought  to  do.  So  you  have  no  wasted 
labour.  Your  tyro,  if  he  make  a  blunder,  gives  all  up 
in  despair,  burns  his  paper,  gives  himself  the  trouble  to 
begin  again,  and  tires  with  failure.  Your  generalissimo 
says,  "  How  much  of  this  will  do  ?  Where  is  the 
blunder  ?  Let  me  repair  just  that,  and  no  more.  Life  is 
too  precious  to  afford  to  throw  a  touch  away."  It  is  not 
on  a  superficial  observation  that  you  see  evidence  of 
these  re-considerations.  The  sketch  looks  happy  and 
free.     You  think  he  "  hit  it  off,"  but  he  didn't. 

*  I  am  much  obliged  by  the  photograph,  which  will  be 
prized  by  me,  and  put  into  an  album  where  I  intend  to 
have  my  **  forty  "  enshrined,  so  that  I  may  consider 


JAMES   SMETHAM  255 

them  in  detail.  As  most  of  them  are  personal  friends, 
it  is  a  pleasant  thing  to  look  forward  to  a  more  regular 
correspondence  with  them.  I  have  drawn  them  all  in 
groups  where  they  live  in  the  neighbouring  circles.  You 
are  in  a  square  by  yourself.  This  is  for  the  sake  of  seeing 
them  all  at  a  glance.  They  are  mere  figures  an  inch  long 
scribbled  in  squares,  but  it  is  surprising  how  individual 
they  become,  after  you  have  retouched  them  a  little. 
Scale  is  not  a  very  important  element  in  distinct  impres- 
sion. In  the  background  of  Mulready's  "  Convalescent 
from  Waterloo,"  there  is  a  house  at  a  great  distance,  by 
the  house  a  garden,  in  the  garden  a  gardener  and  a  lady.' 
[Here  he  draws  a  copy  of  the  picture.] 

'These  figures  are  larger  than  the  figures  in  the 
picture;  yet,  after  getting  acquainted  with  it,  they 
become  your  friends,  and  you  know  what  they  are  talk- 
ing about.  Small  as  he  is,  you  see  his  braces  crossed.' 
[Another  drawing  of  soldiers  running.] 

*  These  are  figures  still  smaller.  The  bugle  at  the 
barracks  has  sounded,  and  soldiers  as  small  as  this  are 
hastening  down.  This  is  how  you  see  things  in  Nature 
constantly.  Sometimes  you  are  near  enough  to  see  a 
man  wink,  but  not  always.    Yet  he  is  an  individual  to 

you  all  the  same. 

*  *  *  #  # 

*  The  demand  for  publicity  in  the  arena  has  always 
been  most  distasteful  to  me,  and  yet,  unless  on  some 
such  principle  as  this  scheme  of  regular  clients,  it  is 
impossible  to  shrink  from  the  vexations  and  turmoils  of 

the  arena.' 

#  *  «  «  # 


266  EETEOSPECTS 

•  1  Park  Lane,  Stoke  Newington,  N. :  June  30, 1864, 

***** 

*  We '  [Le.  himself  and  family]  *are  going  in  an  hour 
or  two  to  spend  a  month  in  a  little  true  village  in  Kent, 
Green- Street-Green,  near  Dartford.  .  .  .  The  thought 
of  the  country  comes  very  delightfully  after  a  year's  toil. 
Where  we  go  there  are  open  commons,  and  lanes 
bordered  wide  with  grass,  and  open  ploughed  fields  with 
very  slow  horses,  and  ploughmen  trailing  across  them,  in 
order  to  teach  tranquillity  to  the  beholder.  There  are 
very  few  houses,  and  one  shop.  The  geese  have  it  all 
their  own  way  among  the  furze  and  dry  grass,  and  it  is 
altogether  a  "  pleasing  land  of  drowsyhead,"  ^  enough  to 
make  you  go  to  sleep  to  think  of  it. 

'There  is  only  one  place  where  we  could  get 
lodgings,  and  these  were  prepared  for  a  curate  who  has 
left  the  place,  probably  driven  off  by  sheer  silence.  He 
has  left  two  hymns  in  large  type  on  the  bedroom  wall, 
which  we  are  sure  to  have  off  by  heart  before  we  leave.' 
***** 

'  1  Park  Lane :  January  2, 1865. 

***** 

*  The  delight  of  it '  [the  scheme  of  Studies]  *  is  won- 
derful ;  and  it  has,  as  I  hoped,  a  power  of  development 
beyond  itself.  For  example,  a  subscriber  having  re- 
ceived two  Studies  offered  me  seventy  guineas  to  paint 
him  two  larger  subjects,  and  I  expect  this  to  be  the  case 
here  and  there.  I  can  hardly  afford  the  wear  and  tear 
of  producing  subjects,  with  much  thinking  in  them, 

'  See  Thomson's  Castle  of  Indolence,  canto  1  stanza  6. 


JAMES  SMETHAM 


257 


for  three  guineas  each.     To  remedy  this  I  have  tried 
the  following  plan : 

*  1.  Spend  a  week  or  two  in  thinking  out  a  subject 
elaborately  in  water-colours  for  the  portfolio. 

*  2.  When  say  half  a  dozen  subjects  are  ready,  trace 
or  sketch,  or  show  them  (which  is  best  of  all);  and  out  of 
this  half-dozen  let  all  the  subscribers  make  their  choice. 
Only  the  same  subject  should  not,  if  possible,  be  repeated 
more  than  six  times,  and  should  be  distributed,  so  as 
not  to  clash  in  the  same  circle  of  friends  or  neighbours. 
In  each  replica  there  would  be  some  slight  variation  of 
the  theme,  making  it  entirely  original.  In  this  way 
each  subscriber  would  be  sure  of  something  of  the  best 
quality  possible  in  the  circumstances. 

'  8.  Use  the  subject  on  a  larger  canvas  as  a  picture, 
if  need  be. 

*  The  subjects  I  have  thought  of  I  will  describe  to 
you. 

No.  1. — Peter  said,  'I  go  a  fishing.' 

Peter,  reddish  hair,  russet  dress 


Boat 


Shore 


Rusty  net- 


Eock 


Cork  float    Hand     Extended    White  edges    Disciples 
*•  on  loins       arm  of  waves 


No.  2.— The  Husbandman  and  the  Stork  (^sop). 

Light  blue  promontory  Red  Phrygian  cap 

Blue  sky 
I 


White  cloud- 


Grove 


Two  classic-looking     Ripe      Deep  blue     Two  dead 
figures  reaping      oornfleld        dress  cranes 

No.  3. — Lear,  Cordelia,  Clown. 

Dark  curtains  of  tent 


Tangled  silver  hair, 
face  white  and  sad 


Golden  hair,  falling 
over  Lear's  arm 


Light  white  dress 
in  lamplight 


Two  attendants 
Golden  sky 
Blue  tents 

Red  hood 

Clown  calling  him 
'  Nuncle '  and 
looking  queer 

Green  dress 


Two  hands     Pace  in     Cordelia's     Hands  demonstrating 
clasped         profile   hands  against 
looking     Lear's  face 
at  Clown 


No.  4 — Eventide. 


Boiling  twilight  clouds 


Purple  hill 


Golden  gleam 


Pine  stems  catching  light 


Boat  at  rocky       Heron  flying      Pibry    Monk    Dead 
landing-place  over  rooty     medi-   leaves 

bank    tating 


Light  catching 
on  dead  leaves 


JAMES  SMETHAM  259 

"  Or  by  the  light  thy  words  disclose 
"Watch  Time's  full  river  as  it  flows, 
Scanning  thy  gracious  Providence 
Where  not  too  deep  for  mortal  sense." 

Keble's  Evening  Hymn. 

(Colour  deep  and  sombre,  with  points  of  bright  light  on  stems, 
roots,  creepers,  &c.  May  be  a  scene  in  a  primitive  forest,  and  the 
monk  may  be  St.  Francis  Xavier.) 

*  On  the  whole  I  am  inclined  to  suggest  that  No.  4 
would  be  most  likely  to  suit  you  best.  I  look  upon  it  as 
one  of  the  most  thorough  things  I  have  designed,  and  I 
have  spent  much  thought  upon  it.  I  fancy  there  is  an 
amount  of  soothing  quieting  influence  about  the  general 
tone  of  it,  that  would  serve  your  turn  as  well  as  anything 
I  could  send  you,  though  if  it  does  not  take  your  fancy 
I  have  plenty  of  other  material. 


*I  think  your  views  as  to  remaining  in  your  own 
Church  are  likely  to  be  correct.^  "As  a  bird  that 
wandereth  from  her  nest,  so  is  a  man  that  wandereth 
from  his  place."  And  unless  there  be  very  vital 
differences  of  opinion  it  is  unwise  to  enter  on  new 
associations  either  of  business  or  religion.  It  is  only  by 
very  slow  degrees  that  the  best  influences  take  root. 
A  man's  influence  depends  so  much  on  protracted  good 
example,  and  this  not  only  requires  time,  but  time  before 
the  same  audience.  A  man  may  suddenly  shoot  down 
an  alley,  and  be  lost  to  view  out  of  the  thoroughfare 

*  This  referred  to  a  proposal  to  take  Anglican  orders,  then  being 
considered. 

s  2 


260  EETKOSPECTS 

where  he  is  known  and  recognised.  Then  again  in  any 
Church  the  individual  finds  much  that  is  not  to  his 
taste,  has  to  put  up  with  a  good  deal,  and  it  takes  years 
to  lose  the  vexatious  sense  of  antagonism.  I  believe  also 
that  in  cases  of  change  there  is  antagonism  two  ways. 
Unless  the  new  comer  is  very  quiet,  his  peculiarities  vex 
the  community  he  enters.  Even  if  he  is  quiet,  he  says 
"  sibbolet  "  instead  of  "  shibboleth,"  and  he  is  rather  sus- 
pected. Very  different  is  the  case  of  a  convert  from  the 
world  to  the  Church.  The  Church  is  glad  to  teach  him, 
and  he  has  everything  to  learn,  and  usually  leans  to  the 
Church  that  was  made  the  instrument  of  his  conversion. 

*  Still  there  are  cases  where  change  has  been  made 
without  detriment,  possibly  with  advantage.  I  know 
Methodists  who  have  become  Dissenters,  and  Dissenters 
who  have  become  Methodists,  and  Methodists  who  have 
become  Churchmen,  and  some  Church  people  who  have 
become  Methodists.  For  myself,  I  don't  much  believe 
in  Evangelical  Alliances.  True  Christians  can't  but 
love  one  another,  while  for  the  work  of  life  a  little 
clannishness  gives  zest  and  pungency.  I  find  very 
Catholic  people  wanting  in  practical  intensity ;  and, 
considering  that  the  days  of  our  years  are  only  three- 
score and  ten,  and  that  there  is  much  to  be  done,  and 
that  we  are  not  as  a  rule  Admirable  Crichtons,  it  is 
probably  best  for  each  man  and  Church  to  find  his  (and 
its)  own  "  line  of  things  ready  to  hand,"  and  then  do  it 
with  might. 

*  The  most  useful  men  I  know  are  those  who  work 
away  in  one  direction,  and  have  a  touch  of  dislike  for 


JAMES   SMETHAM  261 

those  who  think  differently.  The  rule  is  surely  this, 
that  each  man  should  "  be  himself,"  should  take  up  the 
point  or  points  in  which  he  is  unquestionably  strong, 
and  make  the  most  of  those  points  ;  going  on,  and  never 
minding  what  other  people  think  about  what  he  does,  so 
long  as  he  does  not  offend  against  laws  applicable  to  all. 
With  all  the  good  wishes  of  the  season  when  "  no  planet 
strikes,  no  witch  hath  power  to  harm,"  yours  &c.' 


*  1  Park  Lane,  Stoke  Newington,  N. :  May  23,  1865. 

***** 

'  It  is  one  of  my  great  regrets  that  all  very  serious 

Art  is  dreadfully  dependent  on  money,  and  that  with 

the  best  will  in  the  world  a  man  can't  boast  much  of  the 

perfection  of  work  at  three  guineas.     Still  I  am  most 

thankful  that,  as  studies,  this  medium  of  utterance  is 

open  to  me ;  and  that,  in  a  profession  extremely  hard  to 

make  a  source  of  support,  they  wonderfully  simplify  the 

question  of  finance,  and  pave  the  way  to  better  things. 

Nay,  I  should  be  well  content  myself  to  do  plenty  of 

studies  themselves— believing  as  I  do  that  suggestion, 

and  not  mere  imitation,  is  one  of  the  highest  functions  of 

Art — if  there  were  sufficient  intelligence  in  the  public  to 

make  them  generally  acceptable ;  which  I  fear  there  is 

not,  as  the  history  of  William  Blake  shows.' 

*  «  *  «  * 

As  in  the  case  of  his  friend  William  Davies,  James 
Smetham  had  a  place  among  the  minor  poets  of  England. 
He  did  not  write  much  verse,   but  the   majority  who 


262  KETEOSPECTS 

read  his  Betrospection,  his  Oblivion^  and  The  Single 
Wish,  will  desire  that  he  had  written  more.  I  quote 
a  sonnet,  a  copy  of  which  I  received  soon  after  it  was 
written,  entitled  An  Antidote  to  Care : 

Think  that  the  grass  upon  thy  grave  is  green ; 
Think  that  thou  seest  thine  own  empty  chair, 
The  empty  garments  thou  wast  wont  to  wear, 

The  empty  room  where  long  thy  haunt  hath  been. 

Think  that  the  lane,  the  meadow,  and  the  wood 
And  mountain  summit  feel  thy  foot  no  more, 
Nor  the  loud  thoroughfares,  nor  sounding  shore ; 

All  mere  blank  space  where  thou  thyself  hast  stood. 

And  'mid  the  thought-created  silence  say 

To  thy  stripped  soul,  What  am  I  now  ?  and  where  ? 
Then  turn,  and  face  the  petty  narrowing  care 

That  hath  been  burdening  thee  for  many  a  day, 

And  it  will  die,  as  dies  a  wailing  breeze 
Lost  in  the  solemn  roar  of  boundless  seas. 


263 


WHIT  WELL   EL  WIN 

The  Eev.  Whitwell  Elwin  was  for  fifty  years  the  rector 
of  Boo  ton  in  Norfolk,  and  editor  of  the  Quarterly 
Beview  from  1854  to  1867.  He  was  the  friend  of 
many  notable  literary  Englishmen,  including  Brougham, 
Lockhart,  Croker,  Macaulay,  Thackeray,  and  John  Forster ; 
and  his  reminiscences  of  them  were  extremely  interesting 
to  his  friends.  Few  men  were  more  intimately  acquainted 
with  the  literature  of  the  eighteenth  century  (as  his 
articles  on  Cowper,  Sterne,  Fielding,  Goldsmith,  and 
Johnson  show) ;  but  he  knew  the  nineteenth  century 
nearly  as  well,  particularly  Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  and 
Scott.  His  knowledge  of  Science,  History,  and  Art  was 
also  wide.  He  had  a  remarkable  memory  of  all  that  he 
ever  got  to  know.  His  edition  of  Pope  is  well  known  ; 
and — with  his  introductions  to  the  Poems,  the  Essay  on 
Criticism^  the  Bape  of  the  Loch,  and  the  Essay  on 
Man — it  is  the  standard  one.  Croker  had  begun  it,  but 
accomplished  little.  Elwin  edited  five  volumes,  and  then 
gave  it  up,  Mr.  Courthope  concluding  it.  Elwin  also 
wrote  a  life  of  John  Forster.  He  seldom  left  Booton 
except  to  go  up  to  Town,  when  editor  of  the  Quarterly. 
He  was  devoted  to  his  parish,  where  his  genial  ways, 


264  KETEOSPECTS 

his  constant  kindness  to  parishioners,  his  humour  and 
urbanity,  made  him  a  favourite  with  everyone. 

There  is  an  interesting  sketch  of  him  by  Thackeray, 
in  one  of  his  *  Eoundabout  Papers.'  He  laboured  for  many 
years  at  the  restoration  and  beautifying  of  his  Church, 
declining  every  offer  made  him  to  accept  a  more  valuable 
living.  Booton  Church  is  now  one  of  the  most  perfect 
specimens  of  Perpendicular  Gothic  in  the  county  of 
Norfolk.  It  has  two  towers,  admirable  stained  glass 
windows,  and  carved  oaken  seats  :  the  flints  in  the  face  of 
the  outside  walls,  with  delicate  stone  pilasters  running 
across,  are  most  picturesque;  the  bosses  on  the  roof 
represent  angels,  with  lamps  hanging  from  them ;  and 
all  is  Mr.  Elwin's  reconstruction.  It  is  a  memorial  of 
twenty  years'  work,  work  regularly  paid  for  by  him  as  it 
proceeded,  so  that  from  first  to  last  no  debt  was  incurred. 
Not  far  off  is  a  school,  built  of  bricks  made  and  burnt 
close  at  hand,  all  under  the  direction  of  the  rector. 

Mr.  Elwin's  conversation  was  most  picturesque  and 

varied.    We  talked  much  of  Wordsworth  ;  and  he  once 

recited  to  me,  with  as  richly  musical  a  voice  and  as  deep 

a  pathos  as  I  ever  heard,  the  Abbotsford  sonnet  on  the 

departure  of  Sir  Walter  for  Naples,  dwelling  especially 

on  the  lines, 

the  might 
Of  the  whole  world 's  good  wishes  with  him  goes ; 
Blessings  and  prayers,  in  nobler  retinue 
Than  sceptered  king  or  laurelled  conqueror  knows, 
Follow  this  wondrous  Potentate. 

He  died  as  he  was  dressing,  on  new-year's  day  morning, 
1900.     As  Wordsworth  says,  of  the  Grasmere  pastor. 


WHITWELL  ELWIN  265 

like  a  shadow  thrown 
Softly  and  lightly  from  a  passing  cloud, 
Death  fell  on  him  ; 

or,  as  Samuel  Johnson  put  it,  in  lines  which  Elwin 

often  quoted : 

Then  with  no  throb  of  fiery  pain, 
No  cold  gradations  of  decay, 
Death  broke  at  once  the  vital  chain, 
And  freed  his  soul  the  nearest  way. 

The  following  are  extracts  from  Mr.  Elwin's  letters 

to  me: 

*  Booton  Eectory,  Norwich :  January  1, 1894. 

*I  was  not  acquainted  with  either  Wordsworth  or 
Coleridge  ;  and  much  as  I  have  heard  about  them  from 
others,  I  am  sorry  that  I  can  do  little  to  satisfy  any 
expectations  our  friend  may  have  raised  in  you.  Here, 
however,  is  an  extract  from  a  letter  written  by  Lockhart  to 
myself,  which  I  think  may  be  of  use  to  you  : 

*  '♦  November  22,  1852. 

' "  One  of  the  last  nights  I  met  W.  W.  was  at  Miss 
Eogers's,  close  by  me  here.  In  the  evening  she  had  a 
bevy  of  young  beauties,  and  both  he  and  Sam  were  a 
little  excited.  As  the  girls,  and  one  especially,  were 
retiring,  the  two  poets,  Sydney  Smith,  and  I,  observed 
them  from  the  fireside  of  the  outer  room.  *Ah,'  said 
Sam,  *  what  an  advantage  we  have !  In  a  few  years  all 
these  fair  creatures  will  be  withered,  and  their  youth — 
which  is  the  worth  of  their  sex — gone  ;  whereas  we  are 
to  the  last  almost  as  good  as  we  ever  were.'  W.  W. 
surveyed  him  from  top  to  toe,  and  bowing  to  the  ground. 


266  RETEOSPECTS 

said  in  a  whisper  not  to  be  forgotten,  *  Speak  for  your- 
self, bard  of  Memory.'  Grand  was  Sydney's  roar,  and 
the  banker  slunk  away  visibly  demolished. 

* "  I  think  it  was  the  very  day  after  that,  being  quite 
accidentally  at  Highgate  with  a  friend,  it  occurred  to 
me  to  go  into  the  Church,  and  see  what  monument  had 
been  raised  to  Coleridge.  Behold  !  W.  W.  and  his  wife 
were  in  the  church  for  the  same  purpose.  My  friend 
took  Mrs.  Wordsworth  into  his  carriage,  and  W.  W.  and 
I  walked  across  the  fields  to  this  park,^  he  lodging  at 
Miss  Rogers's,  next  door  to  me.  He  had  on  a  former 
occasion  told  me  many  painful  stories  about  Coleridge. 
«  *  *  %  * 

*  "  But  now  his  strain  was  very  different.  He  spoke 
with  profound  admiration,  respect,  and  regret,  and 
seemed  to  consider  him  as  having  passed  his  latter 
years  in  pious  penitence  that  should  obliterate  all 
errors." 

*  With  reference  to  the  anecdote  in  the  first  of  these 
two  paragraphs  it  may  be  needful,  if  you  print  it,  to 
remind  a  new  generation,  who  never  saw  Rogers,  that 
rather  early  in  life  he  had  a  strong  resemblance  to  a 
corpse,  a  theme  for  numerous  jests,  and  grew  more 
ghastly  in  advanced  age.  It  was  this  that  gave  point  to 
Wordsworth's  preliminary  survey  of  him  from  top  to  toe, 
followed  by  the  burlesque  bow,  and  the  ironical  "  Speak 
for  yourself,''  in  mockery  of  the  Bard's  vaunt,  when  his 
outward  appearance  was  in  such  ludicrous  contradiction 
to  it.  .  .  .  All   the   accounts  I  got  of   Coleridge  from 

'  To  Sussex  Place,  in  the  Eegent's  Park. 


WHITWELL  ELWIN  267 

those  who  knew  him  before  his  final  asylum  with 
Gillman  agreed  in  this— that  he  was  destitute  of  self- 
control,  and  that  on  the  slightest  incentive  he  gave 
himself  up  to  self-indulgence.  .  .  .  With  his  profligacies, 
his  reckless  improvidence,  his  utter  want  of  considera- 
tion for  everyone  but  himself,  there  must  have  been 
seasons  when,  having  exhausted  the  endurance  of  his 
staunchest  friends,  they  must  have  kept  him  at  a 
distance,  and  treated  him  with  coldness.  You  may  be 
sure  that  Wordsworth,  as  well  as  Southey,  had  his  share 
in  the  trial,  and  it  shows,  it  seems  to  me,  his  nobility  of 
feeling  that  when  the  scene  was  closed  he  should  have 
passed  over  the  whole  of  Coleridge's  criminal  aberra- 
tions— for  they  were  nothing  less — and  dwelt  solely 
upon  his  great  gifts,  his  high  principles,  often  as  they 
had  broken  down  in  practice,  and  his  final  repentance 
and  reformation.' 

#  *  #  *  # 

*  In  the  Quarterly  Beview,  vol.  xcii.  No.  184,  p.  227, 
there  is  a  paragraph  commencing  "Wordsworth  was 
about  five  feet  ten  inches  in  height,"  and  ending  "  widely 
as  his  name."  The  article  was  not  written  by  Lockhart, 
but  I  have  his  authority  for  stating  that  the  whole  of 
this  paragraph  was  from  his  editorial  pen.  It  appears 
to  me  a  concise  and  vivid  summary  of  Wordsworth's 
appearance,  manners,  and  style  of  conversation,  and  the 
value  of  the  portrait  is  greatly  increased  when  it  is 
known  to  come  from  an  eminent  and  shrewd  observer, 
who  had  seen  Wordsworth  under  varied  circumstances — 
at  Abbotsford,  at  Kydal  Mount,  in  London  society — and 


268  EETEOSPECTS 

who  had  the  faculty  of  setting  down  traits  with  the  same 
precision  that  he  noted  them.  Nor  can  the  character  be 
suspected  of  partiality,  for  while  Lockhart  could  not  but 
do  homage  to  Wordsworth's  genius,  and  enter  into  the 
spirit  and  power  of  much  of  his   poetry,  he  was   not 

among  the  number  of  his  uncompromising  admirers.' 

***** 

*  Glancing  over  Lockhart' s  letters  I  find  this  passage : 
( tt  y^  Yf  recited  verse  in  a  sonorous  style  almost  like 

song.  So  did  Coleridge  and  Wilson.  Who  began  it 
I  cannot  say — probably  S.  T.  C,  who  did  it  far  the  best, 
having  a  finer  ear  for  music  of  every  sort." 

*  In  allusion  to  Wordsworth's  alleged  fondness  for  re- 
peating his  own  poetry,  Lockhart  says  that  he  has  no 
recollection  of  his  having  obtruded  it;  but  in  another 
letter  (July  9,  1852)  he  gives  an  instance  of  Words- 
worth's preference  for  listening — amidst  a  wealth  of 
books — to  what  he  himself  had  written  : 

* "  I  remember  once,  perhaps  thirty  years  ago,  W.  W. 
at  Abbotsford  pleaded  his  weak  eyes  as  a  reason  for  not 
joining  Sir  Walter  Scott,  and  others,  in  some  ride,  and 
remained  at  home  with  only  Miss  Wordsworth,  his 
daughter.  On  returning  after  four  or  five  hours,  we 
found  him  in  the  same  attitude  we  had  left  him  at  the 
fireside  in  the  library,  and  the  lady  reading  to  him  The 
Excursion ! " 

•When  De  Quincey  resided  at  the  Lakes,  Words- 
worth was  friendly  with  him,  and  Lockhart  says  it  was 
"  merely  to  be  near  Wordsworth  that  Wilson  bought  his 
pretty  little  estate  on  Windermere."    It  was  Lockhart's 


WHITWELL  ELWIN  269 

impression  that,  while  both  Wilson  and  De  Quincey 
retained  their  admiration  of  the  poet,  both  ended  by 
disliking  the  man.  The  fault  was  probably  with  them- 
selves,  I  have  a  letter  of  Lockhart's  giving  a  sketch 
of  De  Quincey's  career,  and  from  this  it  is  evident  that 
his  habits  for  many  years  of  his  middle  life  must  have 
compelled  Wordsworth  to  drop  him ;  as  it  did  Lockhart 
himself,  which  sufficiently  explains  De  Quincey's  sour- 
ness. Wilson's  change  of  feeling  may  be  suspected  to 
have  proceeded  in  like  manner  from  Wordsworth's  dis- 
taste for  some  tricks  he  played  upon  him,  which  may  have 
passed  with  Wilson  for  jests,  but  to  Wordsworth  seemed 
insults. 

*  You  will  observe  that  Lockhart,  in  his  characterisa- 
tion of  Wordsworth,  speaks  of  the  vivacity  of  his  con- 
versation, and  of  his  ability  to  cope  in  wit  with  the 
greatest  masters  in  the  art,  among  whom  he  mentioned 
to  me  Sydney  Smith  and  Kogers.  I  fancy  this  trait 
has  been  a  good  deal  overlooked  by  most  of  those  who 
have  written  of  him.  His  playful  rebuke  to  Eogers's 
personal  vanity  is  itself  a  specimen  of  the  vein  of  fun 
there  was  in  him.  I  have  seen  it  remarked  that  there 
was  no  humour  in  Wordsworth's  verse ;  which,  if  it  were 
true,  would  be  no  evidence  that  it  was  not  in  the  man  ; 
but  I  myself  think  that  there  is  both  humour  and  poetry 
in  The  Idiot  Boy, 

*  *  #  #  * 

*I  am  a  recluse,  and  live  out  of  the  way  of  new 
publications,  so  that  I  am  behindhand  in  my  knowledge 
of  some  subjects,  in  which   my  interest  is  greatest. 


270  KETEOSPECTS 

I  shall  endeavour  to  repair  my  backwardness  in  respect 
to  Wordsworth,  and  send  you  a  supplement  to  this  letter.' 


♦  Booton  Eectory,  Norwich :  February,  1894. 

*  I  am  delighted  to  hear  that  you  will  be  coming  our 
way  in  summer.  A  mere  call  will  be  no  good.  Unless 
you  bring  your  portmanteau  and  stay,  you  will  not  be 
welcome.  .  .  .  We  shall  have  plenty  to  talk  about. 

'  Dyce,  the  editor  of  Shakespeare,  saw  much  of 
Wordsworth  in  his  visits  to  London.  He  was  accus- 
tomed to  Boswellise,  and  he  took  down  fragments  of 
Wordsworth's  conversation,  most  of  which  he  published 
in  the  notes  to  his  Table  Talk  of  Samuel  Bogers,  He 
intended  that  the  remainder  should  be  published  also, 
but  some  are  trivial,  and  I  have  copied  the  few  that 
seem  worth  preserving  on  a  separate  sheet  of  paper. 
So  far  as  I  know  they  have  never  been  printed.  John 
Forster,  the  author  of  the  Life  of  Oliver  Goldsmith, 
Life  of  Dickens,  &c.,  was  Dyce's  literary  executor,  and 
I  was  one  of  Forster's  ;  and  it  is  in  this  way  that  Dyce's 
manuscript  has  come  into  my  hands. 

***** 

*  Dyce  was  a  very  exact  man,  and  he  says  he  can 
vouch  for  the  accuracy  of  his  report  of  Wordsworth's 
talk.  It  was  Dyce's  chief  defect  that  he  was  apt  to 
concentrate  his  attention  on  petty  details.  He  had  a 
refined  taste  in  poetry,  but  seldom  got  beyond  verbal 
criticism.' 


WHITWELL  ELWIN  271 

*  Booton  Rectory,  Norwich :  December  7, 1894. 

*  The  widow  of  John  Forster,  who  wrote  the  Life  of 
Goldsmith,  died  a  few  months  ago,  and  the  whole  of  his 
papers  have  passed  into  the  hands  of  his  executors,  of 
whom  I  am  one.  In  going  over  his  voluminous  corre- 
spondence, I  have  just  come  upon  a  letter  to  him  from 
Mrs.  Gaskell,  the  novelist,  dated  Ambleside,  October  28, 
1852,  and  I  transcribe  from  it  the  passage  which 
follows  : 

* "  We  dined  quietly  and  early  with  Mrs.  Wordsworth 
on  Monday.  She  is  charming.  She  told  us  some 
homely  tender  details  of  her  early  married  days,  how 
Miss  Wordsworth  made  the  bread,  and  got  dinner  ready, 
and  Mrs.  W.  nursed  all  the  morning,  and,  leaving  the 
servant  to  wash  up  after  dinner,  the  three  set  out  on 
their  long  walks,  carrying  all  the  babes  amongst  them ; 
and  certain  spots  are  memorial  places  to  Mrs.  W.  in 
her  old  age,  because  there  she  sat,  and  nursed  this  or 
that  darling.  The  walks  they  took  were  something 
surprising  to  our  degenerate  minds.  To  get  news  of  the 
French  Eevolution  they  used  to  walk  up  the  Raise  ^  for 
miles,  in  stormy  winter  evenings  to  meet  the  mail.  One 
day  when  they  were  living  at  Grasmere  (no  post-ofiSce 
there)  Wordsworth  walked  over  to  Ambleside  (more  than 
four  miles)  to  post  some  poem  that  was  to  be  included 
in  a  volume  just  being  printed.  After  dinner  as  he  sat 
meditating,  he  became  dissatisfied  with  one  line,  and 
grew  so  restless  over  the  thought  that  towards  bedtime 
he  declared  he  must  go  to  Ambleside  and  alter  it ;  for 

^  Dunmail  Eaise. 


272  EETKOSPECTS 

*  in  those  days  postage  was  very  heavy,  and  we  were 
obliged  to  be  very  prudent.'  So  he  and  Miss  Words- 
worth set  off  after  nine  o'clock,  walked  to  Ambleside, 
knocked  up  the  post-office  people,  asked  for  a  c  '.ndle,  got 
the  letter  out  of  the  box,  sent  the  good  people  to  bed 
again,  and  sat  in  the  little  parlour,  *  puzzling  and 
puzzling  till  they  got  the  line  right ' ;  when  they  re- 
placed the  letter,  put  out  the  candle,  and  softly  stole 
forth,  and  walked  home  in  the  winter  midnight. 

*  "  It  is  curious  the  loving  reverence  she  retains  for 
Coleridge,  in  spite  of  his  rousing  the  house  about  one  in 
the  morning,  after  her  confinement,  when  quiet  was 
particularly  enjoined,  to  ask  for  eggs  and  bacon  !  and 

similar  vagaries." 

#  *  #  *  # 

*  I  do  not  remember  that  this  incident  of  the  night- 
walk,  to  alter  the  defective  line,  has  been  told  in  print. 
It  is  a  good  example  of  the  enormous  pains  Wordsworth 
took  with  his  poetry.  Nor  do  I  recollect  that  the  long 
walks  of  the  poet,  his  wife,  and  sister,  carrying  the 
nursery  with  them,  have  ever  appeared  in  this  precise 
form,  as  an  instance  of  the  passionate  love  of  all 
three  for  out-door  life,  and  for  scenery.' 

The  following  are  extracts  from  Dyce's  fragments  of 
Wordsworth's  conversation,  still  in  MS.,  given  me  by 
Mr.  Elwin : 

'  "  I  should  like  very  well  to  reside  in  London  during 
several  months  of  the  year,  but  I  cannot  say  that  I  relish 
the  short  visits  I  pay  to  it ;  during  which  I  live  in  a 


WHITWELL  ELWIN  273 

constant  bustle,  breakfasting  and  dining  out  every  day, 
and  keeping  much  later  hours  than  suit  my  habits.  I 
delight  in  the  walks  about  London,  to  which  no  one — no 
poet  at  least — has  done  justice.  How  charming  is  the 
walk  along  the  Serpentine  !  There  is  no  nobler  view  in 
London  than  that  of  Cheapside,  and  the  rise  of  Ludgate 
Hill.  To  me  the  streets  present  objects  of  great  pic- 
turesqueness.  Even  a  butcher's  shop  by  candlelight,  with 
its  varieties  of  colour,  light  and  shade,  is  very  striking."  * 

* "  The  pleasure  I  derive  from  Architecture,  Sculpture, 
and  Painting,  which  I  have  perhaps  vainly  endeavoured 
to  express  in  parts  of  my  poetry,  is  only  second  to  the 
pleasure  which  I  derive  from  Nature."  ' 

*  "  When  I  compose  a  poem,  I  generally  begin  with 
the  most  striking  and  prominent  part ;  and  if  I  feel 
pleased  with  my  execution  of  that,  I  then  proceed  to  fill 
up  the  other  parts."  ' 

*  "  In  writing  poetical  descriptions  of  natural  objects, 
it  is  better  not  to  write  them  on  the  spot ;  because,  if 
you  do,  you  will  enter  into  a  great  deal  of  unnecessary 
detail.  You  should  write  just  after  the  object  is  removed 
from  your  sight,  and  then  its  great  features  only  will 
remain  impressed  upon  your  mind."  ' 

*I  may  add  that  in  talking  with  Aubrey  de  Vere, 
Wordsworth  blamed  Walter  Scott  for  adopting  the 
opposite  method. 

*  In  Dr.  Wordsworth's  Memoirs  of  his  uncle  there  are 
two  letters  from  Wordsworth  to  Dyce,  in  which  he 

I.  T 


274  EETEOSPECTS 

speaks  of  his  wish  to  publish  a  selection  from  Thom- 
son's poems.  In  the  second  of  them  (see  Memoirs,  vol.  ii. 
p.  219)  he  hesitates,  from  a  doubt  whether  it  is  becom- 
ing for  one  poet  to  dismember  the  works  of  another. 
His  j5nal  decision  appears  in  Dyce's  fragments  of  his 
talk,  and  it  may  be  worth  while  to  print  the  passage 
in  a  note  to  the  letter.  He  said,  in  conversation  with 
Mr.  Dyce : 

* "  I  have  given  up  my  intention  of  publishing  a  selec- 
tion from  Thomson's  works  (poems  and  plays)  because 
I  think  I  ought  not  to  treat  so  distinguished  a  poet  in 
that  manner.  I  have  the  most  ardent  admiration,  and 
profound  respect,  for  Thomson.  I  doubt  if  any  poet 
since  Milton  has  shown  so  much  poetic  feeling.  Parts 
of  The  Castle  of  Indolence  are  divine.  I  say  nothing  of 
his  taste,  and  Burns  had  more  passion."  * 

*  I  copy  a  passage  from  Dyce's  MS.  touching  Dora 
Wordsworth's  marriage  with  Quillinan :  "  Dora,  the 
darling  of  her  parents,  married  the  late  Mr.  Edward 
Quillinan,  a  gentleman  who  published  sundry  clever 
things,  both  in  verse  and  prose.  ^  In  spite  of  his  high 
esteem  for  Quillinan,  who  looked  up  to  him  with  all  the 
reverence  of  a  votary,  Wordsworth  had  long  objected  to 
this  marriage  with  great  earnestness,  firstly  because 
Quillinan  was  a  widower  with  two  daughters ;  secondly, 
because  he  was  a  Roman  Catholic ;  and  thirdly,  because 

*  See  Poems  by  Edward  Quillinan.  With  a  Memoir  by  William 
Johnston.  *  I  knew  Quillinan  well,  and  it  was  in  his  house  in  Bryanston 
Street  that  I  first  saw  Wordsworth.'     (Dyce.) 


WHITWELL  ELWIN  275 

he  was  poor,  and  had  incurred  the  most  serious  liabilities 
in  consequence  of  his  connection  with  the  Brydges 
family,  his  first  wife  having  been  a  daughter  of  Sir 
Egerton  Brydges.  Wordsworth,  however,  at  last  ceased 
to  oppose  the  marriage,  which  took  place  in  1841,  nor 
could  there  possibly  have  been  a  happier  union." ' 


276  EETEOSPECTS 


ANNA   SWANWICK 

Miss  Swanwick's  memoir  has  recently  been  written  by 
her  niece,  Miss  Mary  Bruce.  The  following  chapter  is 
meant  to  be  a  supplement,  although  most  of  it  was 
written  before  her  biography  appeared.  Throughout 
her  long  life  the  dominant  notes,  from  first  to  last,  were 
consistently  those  of  graciousness,  ideality,  radiance, 
and  unselfish  versatility.  There  have  been  few  women 
in  the  nineteenth  century  from  whom  flowed  such  an 
uninterrupted  stream  of  elevating  influence.  From 
every  interview  with  that  indomitable  spirit  in  its  fragile 
body  one  came  away  much  clearer  in  insight,  greatly 
widened  in  sympathy,  and  fuller  of  hope  for  the  future 
of  mankind. 

From  her  early  childhood  in  Liverpool  Miss  Swan- 
wick's interest  in  Literature,  and  in  every  kind  of 
educational  and  social  movement,  was  great.  She 
often  spoke  of  her  introduction  to  Literature  by  her 
mother.  At  the  age  of  four  she  could  repeat  long 
passages  of  L' Allegro,  The  education  of  girls  was  then 
very  meagre  and  formal ;  and  Anna  Swanwick,  fighting 
her  own  way  upward,  was  one  of  the  noble  pioneers  of 
their  higher  education.    At  the  age  of  eighteen  she 


ANNA  SWANWICK  277 

received  a  great  impetus  through  an  initiation  into 
Philosophy  and  Mathematics  by  Dr.  Martineau.  She 
visited  the  Lake  District  of  England,  where  she  saw 
Wordsworth,  and  began  the  study  of  Greek  and  German. 
Intensely  eager  to  learn,  and  unable  to  gratify  her 
desire  in  England,  she  went  to  Berlin ;  where  she  lived 
with  the  scholar  Zumpt.  In  his  house,  and  at  classes, 
she  commenced  the  study  of  Hebrew,  as  well  as  of  Greek 
through  the  medium  of  German.  In  six  months  she 
acquired  a  complete  knowledge  of  German,  and  was 
studying  Kant,  Fichte,  and  Schleiermacher ;  while  she 
had  mastered  Greek,  so  far  as  to  read  Plato  with 
delight.  The  record  of  these  six  months  is  a  wonderful 
disclosure  both  of  character  and  capacity ;  as  her  letters, 
then  written,  show. 

On  her  return  to  England  she  made  some  masterly 
translations  from  Goethe  and  Schiller,  the  firstfruits 
being  Iphigenia,  with  parts  of  Torquato  TassOy  which 
were  published  in  1843.  Her  translation  of  Schiller's 
Jungfrau  von  Orleans  was  issued  in  1847,  and  Goethe's 
Egmont  in  1850.  After  the  Iphigenia  appeared,  she 
was  asked  by  Mr.  Bohn  to  translate  Faust  into  Eng- 
lish ;  the  first  part  of  which  was  published  in  1851,  but 
the  second  not  till  1879.  I  think  I  may  venture  to  say 
that  this  ranks  as  one  of  the  best  translations  of  Goethe's 
great  poem  in  any  language ;  and  it  at  once  made  her 
widely  known  in  the  literary  world.  So  highly  did  Baron 
Bunsen  esteem  it  that  he  begged  her  to  turn  her  thoughts, 
for  a  similar  purpose,  to  the  Greek  tragedians.  She  did 
BO  ;  and,  after  much  thought,  determined  to  undertake  the 


278  KETEOSPECTS 

translation  of  the  dramas  of  JEschylus.  To  this  work 
she  devoted  the  best  years  of  her  life,  It  brought  her 
reputation,  and  her  society  was  sought  by  men  and 
women  famous  in  the  realms  of  Literature,  Art,  and 
Politics ;  but  it  was  her  remarkable  personality  that 
attracted  them,  and  made  them  friends. 

A  near  relative,  Mrs.  Russell  Swanwick,  has  sent  me 
the  following  memorandum :  ^  *  In  looking  back  on  her 
long  and  noble  life  one  is  more  and  more  struck  by  the 
roundness  and  richness  of  her  nature.  She  was  full  of 
interests,  all  of  which  blended ;  no  one  part  of  her 
suffering  from  the  cultivation  of  another.  A  striking 
feature  in  her  character  was  her  intense  power  of  con* 
centration.  Gifted  with  a  mind  of  rare  quality,  it  was 
masculine  in  its  power  of  grappling  with  intellectual 
difficulty.  She  brought  to  the  work  of  translation  an 
almost  religious  enthusiasm.  To  render  the  dramas  of 
the  master  poet  (as  she  felt  him  to  be)  into  equivalent 
English  was  for  the  time  being  the  absorbing  work  of 
her  life.  Both  word  and  spirit  had  to  be  reproduced  in 
the  most  perfect  way.  So  scrupulous  was  she  that 
sometimes  a  phrase,  or  a  sentence,  would  be  pondered 
for  a  week  till  what  she  considered  the  right  rendering 
was  found.  She  could  not  brook  second-rate  work,  and 
this  spirit  animated  her  to  the  last.  When  eighty 
years  of  age  she  revised  her  translations,  not  only  of 
the  ^schylean  Trilogy,  but  also  of  the  two  parts  of 

*  Many  of  these  memoranda  are  included  in  the  Memoir  com- 
piled by  Miss  Bruce ;  but  there  they  have  a  different  setting  from  the 
form  they  took  when  they  were  written  down  for  me,  at  an  earlier  date. 


ANNA  SWANWICK  279 

Faust,,  a  task  which  few  would  have  had  the  courage 
to  undertake.  In  each  case  she  found  improvement 
possible.  Whatever  its  literary  merit,  and  that  is  great, 
there  never  was  more  truly  honest  work. 

*  Her  power  of  concentration  enabled  her  to  grasp  the 
leading  points  in  any  book,  article  in  a  review,  or  the 
news  of  the  day,  with  remarkable  rapidity  and  exactness. 
By  some  alembic  of  her  own  she  managed  to  extract  the 
ore.  She  never  read  in  a  careless  or  desultory  fashion, 
but  made  everything  her  own  as  she  went  along.  This 
gave  richness  to  her  mind,  and  precision  to  her  speech  ; 
and  what  she  acquired  she  never  forgot.  As  her 
interests  were  very  wide,  her  sympathy  was  overjflowing  ; 
and  she  always  felt  that  it  was  more  blessed  to  give 
than  to  receive.  It  was  these  things  that  made  her  so 
unique,  and  gave  such  a  charm  to  her  society.  Then 
her  absence  of  self-consciousness,  the  sincerity  and 
winning  graciousness  of  her  manner,  drew  out  an 
assuring  sincerity  from  all  who  met  her.  Superficiality 
dropped  away,  and  the  conversation  in  her  drawing- 
room  or  at  her  dinner-table  was  wholly  different  from 
ordinary  "  society  talk."  Her  trained  and  polished 
intellect  met  the  man  of  letters,  the  man  of  science,  and 
the  politician,  each  on  his  own  ground,  as  an  equal ;  and 
she  generally  led  the  conversation,  which  could  be  as 
deep  and  earnest  as  it  was  at  other  times  brilliant  and 
witty,  flashes  of  fun  and  repartee  alternating  with 
grave  discussions. 

*  Poetry  was  a  part  of  her  being,  which  vibrated  in 
harmony  with  all  that  was  true  and  good ;  but  hers  was 


280  KETEOSPECTS 

no  sentimental  appreciation,  her  poetical  judgment  being 
always  virile  and  strong.  As  in  Philosophy  she  was 
never  carried  away  by  the  mere  beauty  of  a  system,  in 
poetry  she  was  quick  to  detect  every  piece  which  had  a 
falsetto  note,  and  to  put  it  aside.  Then,  united  with 
her  gentle  nature  was  the  most  manly  love  of  freedom, 
of  liberty  and  independence,  and  a  profound  hatred  of 
all  oppression  tyranny  and  wrong.  Her  eye  would 
flash  with  indignation  at  the  recital  of  any  tale  of  un- 
righteousness or  cruelty.  Of  a  deeply  religious  nature, 
she  was  the  pupil,  and  life-long  friend,  of  Dr.  Martineau. 
With  him  she  faced  the  great  questions  of  the  ages,  and 
probing  philosophic  doubt  came  back  with  a  humble 
faith,  very  simple,  and  most  catholic ;  while  the  dis- 
coveries of  Science  were  a  revelation  to  her  not  only 
of  eternal  law,  but  of  the  law  of  the  Eternal.* 

Men  and  women  have  been  grouped  as  *  Light  Givers,' 
*  Light  Reflectors,'  and  '  Light  Absorbers.'  It  is  a  good 
classification.  The  first  are  the  rarest,  and  amongst 
them  was  Anna  Swanwick. 

Miss  Swanwick  often  spoke  of  her  great  love  through- 
out life  for  wild  flowers.  She  had  more  joy  in  them, 
she  said  to  me,  than  in  those  reared  in  garden  ground ; 
and  a  sort  of  friendship,  or  at  least  a  subtle  sympathy  and 
affinity,  with  them.  Her  father  used  to  call  her  *  Flora ' 
because  of  this.  *  But,'  said  she,  *  however  much  we 
may  love  them  when  young,  we  can  only  really  appreciate 
them  when  we  are  old.  In  youth  so  much  draws  our 
attention  away  from  what  we  love,  we  are  in  such  haste 


ANNA  SWANWICK  281 

to  be  doing  things ;  but  when,  instead  of  this,  we  are 
either  compelled,  or  induced,  to  look  quietly  on  Nature, 
we  get  away  from  ourselves,  and  the  beauty  of  the  flowers 
grows  upon  us,  whether  we  see  them  by  the  wayside  or 
in  the  "  crannied  wall."  '  She  could  spend  much  time  in 
absolute  solitude,  if  only  she  had  flowers  around  her.  She 
referred  to  Keats's  love  for  them  in  his  last  days,  and 
quoted  his  words,  *  I  feel  the  flowers  growing  over  me,' 
and  then  Browning's 

Roses  shall  bloom,  nor  want  beholders, 

Sprung  from  the  ground  where  our  own  flesh  moulders. 

She  was  always  ready  to  speak  of  her  work  amongst 
the  poor,  and  unbefriended ;  her  classes  for  girls 
employed  in  shops,  &c.  Once  when  she  was  trying  to 
interest  these  girls  in  Milton,  someone  suggested  that  in- 
struction in  Arithmetic  would  be  more  useful,  considering 
their  work,  and  their  future.  She  thought  not,  but  said 
she  would  leave  it  to  themselves  to  decide.  So,  at  their 
next  meeting  she  put  the  question  to  them,  *  which  do 
you  prefer,  instruction  in  the  poets,  or  in  book-keeping?' 
and,  not  to  hasten  their  decision,  left  them  to  discuss  it 
amongst  themselves,  telling  them  that  she  would  come 
back  for  their  answer.  When  she  returned  she  found  that 
only  two  of  the  girls  were  in  favour  of  what  bore  upon 
their  ordinary  work;  all  the  rest  wished  what  would 
take  them  away  from  it,  or  lift  them  above  it.  Years 
afterwards,  when  all  teaching  was  given  up,  on  account 
of  age  and  illness,  her  maid  announced  that  a  woman 
wished  to  see  her,  but  could  not  come  into  the  house,  as 


282  KETKOSPECTS 

she  had  an  infant  in  a  perambulator.  On  going  to  the 
door  Miss  Swanwick  found  an  ex-pupil  come  to  thank 
her  for  having  been  *  taught  to  see  the  Beautiful,  for  now 
she  was  teaching  the  same  to  her  child.' 

She  often  referred  to  the  innate  courtesy,  kindliness, 
and  good  taste  of  some  of  the  very  poorest  women 
she  had  known.  *  Befriend  them,'  she  said  *  and  their 
gratitude  will  flow  to  you,  like  water  from  a  well.'  She 
mentioned  a  poor  cripple  whose  sole  joy  was  a  print  of 
one  of  Eaphael's  Madonnas  she  had  given  him,  which 
consoled  him  during  many  a  sad  and  lonely  day.  *  He 
thanked  me,'  she  said,'  for  my  words  and  my  smiles.' 

Turning  back  to  her  literary  work,  she  often  spoke  to 
me  of  the  difficulties  which  every  conscientious  translator 
felt  in  getting  the  fittest  equivalent  term  in  another  lan- 
guage to  express  not  only  the  meaning  of  particular  words 
and  phrases,  but  the  drift  or  tendency,  and  above  all  the 
literary  flavour  and  charm,  of  the  original.  The  literal 
translation  of  language  was  impossible,  because  no  two 
phrases,  even  in  the  same  language,  were  sjmonymous ; 
and  what  was  needed  by  one  who  knew  no  language  but  his 
or  her  own  was  not  bald  literality,  but  equivalence,  which 
was  another  thing.  She  said  to  me  (what  her  niece  has 
emphasised)  that  when  engaged  in  the  translation  of 
Faust  and  iEschylus,  she  was  sometimes  occupied  for 
days  in  the  search  for  the  best  equivalent  English  word, 
and  an  expression  satisfactory  to  herself.  Vague  re- 
semblance was  not  enough,  nor  a  general  verisimilitude. 
We  must  make  as  near  an  approach  as  possible  to  identity 


ANNA  SWANWICK  283 

of  phrase.  And  yet,  she  said,  such  is  the  harmony  of 
speech — and  the  solidarity  of  thought — that  a  trans- 
lation has  sometimes  been  better  than  the  original 
which  gave  rise  to  it.  If  that  cannot  be  said  of  her  own 
version  of  ^schylus,  it  may  perhaps  be  affirmed  that 
she  has  done  more  than  anyone  else  to  popularise  the 
Greek  poet  to  many  of  his  readers  in  England. 

Her  conversation  almost  always  came  round  to  the 
great  poets  and  thinkers,  living  or  dead.  Her  reminis- 
cences of  those  she  had  known  were  most  varied,  and 
singularly  vivid.  To  meet  them  round  her  table  was 
specially  interesting.  Before  she  knew  him  so  well  as 
in  after -years,  she  sat  next  to  Browning  somewhere  at 
dinner;  and  told  me  that,  after  having  kept  everyone 
present  in  constant  merriment  by  his  brilliant  wit,  he 
turned  to  her  during  a  storm  of  laughter,  and  said  in  an 
undertone,  *  Do  you  like  lizards  ?  '  She  went  on  laugh- 
ing, not  at  the  sallies  which  had  convulsed  the  company, 
but  at  this  new  question.  Browning  continued,  *  I  love 
them  for  the  changefulness  of  their  colours,  and  their 
being  able  to  return  again  to  what  they  were  !  It  is  a 
protective  arrangement,  but  they  must  surely  have  a 
sense  of  humour  in  it  all.' 

She  once  said  to  me,  *  I  have  had  a  very  blessed  life. 
I  only  wish  it  had  been  fuller  of  blessing  to  others.  It's 
no  use  people  telling  me  what  I  have  done  for  them, 
when  I've  done  almost  nothing  worth  doing.  But,  as  I 
have  given  up  long  ago  thinking  of  the  many  gracious 
"  might-have-beens "  for  myself,  I  don't  dwell  on  the 


284  EETEOSPECTS 

"  lost  possibilities  "  for  others.  What  good  does  it  do  to 
think  of  these  things  in  our  old  age,  when  there  are 
millions  of  new  possibilities  for  others  ripening  all 
around  us,  while  we  are  talking  of  our  failures  !  I  like 
to  get  up,  and  work ;  rather  than  sit  still,  and  dream. 
Don't  you  think  the  habit  of  brooding  over  losses,  and 
even  of  lamenting  unrealised  ideals,  may  put  a  drag  on 
our  energy  in  work  ?  But  I  do  not  despise  these  lamenta- 
tions of  good  people,  who  have  been  both  thinkers  and 
workers.  A  sad  retrospect  may  sometimes  be  a  sign 
of  the  greatness  of  human  nature,  and  of  its  coming 
destiny.    You  know  what  our  dear  poet  says  : 

There  shall  never  be  one  lost  good ; 
and  I  like  that  splendid  phrase, 

What  is  our  failure  here  but  a  triumph's  evidence 
For  the  fulness  of  the  days  ? 

Someone    has     said    that    there    is    a    harmony    of 

opposites  in  what  Browning  teaches,  and  I  think  it  is 

true.     I  like  to  be,  with  him,  a 

Plucker  of  amaranths  grown  beneath  God's  eye 
In  gracious  twilights  where  his  chosen  lie ; 

and  yet  I  think  I  know 

Each  sting  that  bids  not  sit  nor  stand,  but  go. 

Don't  you  think  that  a  magnificent  stanza  ? 

He  fixed  thee  mid  this  dance 

Of  plastic  circumstance, 
This  Present,  thou,  forsooth,  wouldst  fain  arrest : 

Machinery  just  meant 

To  give  thy  soul  its  bent, 
Try  thee  and  turn  thee  forth,  sufficiently  impressed. 


ANNA  SWANWICK  285 

Her  numerous  friendships  with  eminent  contempo- 
raries were  well-known  facts,  and  many  persons  saw 
their  influence.  The  versatility  of  her  accomplishments 
was  both  a  cause,  and  an  effect,  of  these  friendships. 
Distinguished  classical  scholars,  such  as  Sir  Kichard 
Jebb,  the  Master  of  Trinity,  Professor  Newman,  and 
others  have  written  in  high  praise  of  her  ^schylus  ; 
others,  such  as  Sir  Theodore  Martin  and  Professor 
Dowden,  in  equal  terms  of  her  Faust,  Tennyson  and 
Browning  appreciated  her,  so  did  Mr.  Gladstone,  Max 
Miiller,  Colenso,  and  Dean  Stanley.  She  had  met 
Carlyle,  Kingsley,  Maurice,  Crabb  Eobinson,  and  W.  B. 
Carpenter.  George  Macdonald,  Frances  Power  Cobbe, 
Lady  Martin,  Mrs.  Pfeiffer,  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  the 
late  Marquis  of  Bute,  and  Mr.  Lecky  were  amongst  her 
friends. 

Perhaps  her  most  characteristic  book  was  one  evolved 
from  a  lecture.  It  was  published  in  1892,  and  called 
Poets  the  Interpreters  of  their  Age;  but  I  need  not 
tarry  to  describe  it.  Time  would  fail  me  to  tell  of  her 
varied  travels,  her  joyous  humour,  and  the  story-telling 
powers  of  this  ever  bright  cheery  and  indomitable 
spirit.  Her  intellect  was  as  nimble-witted,  as  her  heart 
was  gracious  and  gay.  Her  varied  enthusiasms  were 
contagious,  and  her  alert  unpretending  tactful  ways  as  a 
hostess  were  the  delight  of  all  her  friends.  She  knew 
*  when  to  keep  silence  and  when  to  speak.'  She  was  an 
excellent  talker,  and  an  admirable  listener ;  her  refine- 
ment was  so  placid,  and  her  reverence  had  a  spring 
within  it  which  lifted  others  up. 


286  EETKOSPECTS 

Her  work  in  the  cause  of  women's  education  was  that 
of  a  noble  and  undaunted  pioneer.  She  was  one  of  the 
founders  of  Bedford  College,  in  London  ;  and  one  of 
her  last  public  acts  was  to  attend,  and  preside  at,  its 
Jubilee. 

Two  characteristic  things  I  must  mention  in  con- 
clusion. One  is  as  follows.  All  her  acquaintances  knew 
her  immense  appreciation  of  Milton,  and  her  delight 
in  Gomus  ;  but  her  friend  Mr.  Wicksteed  tells  us  he 
was  present  at  a  conversation  in  which  Professor 
Newman  and  she  took  part.  Her  old  friend  and  in- 
structor *  pointed  out  what  he  thought  was  a  drawback 
to  the  moral  efficiency  of  the  poem.  Miss  Swan  wick's 
eye  flashed,  and  she  assumed  the  air  of  one  defending 
the  impeached  honour  of  a  dear  friend.  Passage  after 
passage  from  Gomus  rushed  to  her  lips,  and  a  defiant 
challenge  was  thrown  in  from  time  to  time,  till  her 
hearers  were  fairly  carried  away  by  the  sweep  and 
torrent  of  her  vindication.'  And  her  protagonist  was 
no  less  a  scholar  and  thinker  than  Francis  W- 
Newman. 

Another  relates  to  her  first  and  last  speech  in 
public.  Her  first  was  when  she  was  sixty  years  of 
age,  at  a  meeting  in  London  on  behalf  of  women's 
suffrage.  It  was  thus  reported  at  the  time  :  *  The  speech 
of  the  evening  was  delivered  by  Miss  Swanwick,  who 
had  never  spoken  on  a  platform  before,  and  never  made 
a  public  speech  in  her  life.  It  was  admirably  reasoned, 
and  delivered  with  a  tender,  touching,  womanly  grace 


ANNA  SWANWICK  287 

which  kept  the  audience  silent  while  she  spoke,  but 
brought  thunders  of  applause  when  she  sat  down.  She 
concluded  with  these  words  :  "On  the  battlefield  of  life, 
where  the  powers  of  evil  and  of  good  are  arrayed  for 
mortal  combat,  the  forces  which  are  needed  are  not 
physical  but  spiritual,  not  stalwart  limbs  but  strong 
hearts  and  powerful  brains ;  and  in  these  women  are 
not  deficient.  Give  them  a  sound  practical  education, 
remove  their  social  and  political  disabilities ;  and  in  their 
energy  and  sympathy,  their  conscientiousness  and  tender- 
ness, we  shall,  I  believe,  have  a  reservoir  of  power, 
which  will  lift  this  great  nation  to  a  higher  level  of 
social  and  political  life."  '  No  nobler  words  have  been 
ever  spoken  on  the  subject  of  the  education  of  women. 

Her  last  speech  was  at  the  unveiling  of  the  portrait 
of  a  friend.    In  the  course  of  her  remarks,  she  said  : 

*  I  cannot  but  regard  poetry  as  the  highest  gift  of 
Heaven  to  man,  giving  as  it  does  permanent  expression 
to  the  loftiest  emotions  of  which  we  are  capable  ;  while 
its  ideal  creations,  transmitted  from  generation  to 
generation,  bear  witness  to  the  continuity  of  humanity, 
and  foster  the  sentiments  of  brotherhood.  The  desire  to 
read  the  mysteries  of  the  human  heart,  as  revealed 
through  poetry,  is  common  to  all,  high  and  low,  rich  and 
poor ;  and  thus  it  may  become  an  invaluable  means  of 
bridging  over  the  wide  interval  that  separates  them  in 
life.  Having  had  large  classes  both  of  working-men  and 
working-women,  I  can  speak  from  experience  of  their 
having  found  no  subject  so  acceptable  as  poetry;  the 
works  of  Chaucer,  Shakespeare,  Milton,  and  many  other 


288  EETEOSPECTS 

master-minds,  having  been  thoroughly  appreciated  by 
them. 

*  The  poet,  moreover,  besides  revealing  the  mysteries 
of  the  human  heart,  transports  us,  by  the  power  of  ima- 
gination, into  the  presence  of  Nature,  and  interprets  for 
us  the  mystic  characters  therein  inscribed.  This,  in  my 
judgment,  was  the  special  function  of  Wordsworth,  who, 
in  the  varied  aspects  of  Nature,  recognised  a  "  Presence 
that  disturbed  him  with  the  joy  of  elevated  thoughts," 
in  other  words  the  presence  of  that  God  who,  through 
the  marvellous  beauty  of  the  universe,  is  for  ever  draw- 
ing us  to  Himself.  I  remember  hearing  the  late  Lord 
Selborne  say  that,  with  the  exception  of  the  Bible,  he 
knew  none  but  the  poets,  who  from  Homer  to  Browning 
had  been,  to  such  an  extent  as  they,  the  spiritual 
teachers  of  humanity.' 

That  bright,  elastic,  indomitable  spirit  of  hers — its 
wonderful  grace  mingled  with  its  verve,  its  reticence 
associated  with  an  unconquerable  elan — is  gone.  Her 
fragile  body  was  almost  too  slight  and  delicate  a  shell 
for  the  ever-burning  spirit  to  live  in.  We  shall  not  see 
her  any  more,  but  her  memory  lives,  and  her  works  do 
follow  her. 

The  following  are  a  few  of  Miss  Swanwick's  letters. 
I  had  sent  her  the  copy  of  a  translation  of  Goethe's 
lines  descriptive  of  the  poet's  function,  and,  having 
forgotten  the  context,  asked  her  where  in   Torquato 


ANNA  SWANWICK  289 

Tasso  ((as    I  thought)    it    was.     The    lines    were   as 
follows : 

Wherewith  subdues  he  human  spirits  ? 
Wherewith  makes  he  the  elements  obey  ? 
Is't  not  the  stream  of  song  that  out  his  bosom  springs, 
And  to  his  heart  the  world  back-coiling  brings  ? 

She  replied,  in  two  letters,  thus  : 

'  9  St.  James's  Square,  Bath  :  November  17,  1892. 

***** 

*  The  original  of  the  passage  to  which  you  refer  is 
not  from  Goethe's  Torquato  Tasso,  but  from  his  Faust, 
and  is  to  be  found  in  The  Prologue  for  the  Theatre ;  it 
forms  part  of  the  poet's  beautiful  description  of  the  god- 
like power  wielded  by  the  bard,  which  he  characterises 
as  "  Man's  loftiest  right,  kind  Nature's  high  bequest." 

*  The  following  is  my  translation  of  the  lines  in 
question,  which,  however  unworthy  of  the  original,  is 
certainly  less  objectionable  than  that  which  you  quote, 
and  which  I  regret  to  hear  has  been  attributed  to  me  : 

Whence  comes  his  mastery  o'er  the  human  breast  ? 
Whence  o'er  the  elements  his  sway  ? 
But  from  the  harmony  that,  gushing  from  his  soul, 
Draws  back  into  his  heart  the  wondrous  whole  ?  * 


♦  St.  James's  Square,  Bath :  November  21, 1892. 

«  #  *  *  * 

'  I  am  at  present  engaged  in  revising  my  translation 
of  Faust,  which  was  originally  published  upwards  of 
forty  years  ago. 

*The  entire  passage,  setting  forth  the  function  of 
1.  u 


290  EETEOSPECTS 

the  poet,  to  a  portion  of  which  you  alluded  in  your  last 
letter,  is  so  beautiful  that,  as  heralding  my  little 
volume  on  Poets  and  Poetry,  I  feel  tempted  to  send 
you  my  translation  of  it,  which  I  accordingly  tran- 
scribe.' ^ 

***** 

When  engaged  in  the  work  of  examining  and 
writing  about  the  portraits  of  Wordsworth  and  his  house- 
hold, I  called  on  Mrs.  Gertrude  Lewis,  introduced 
to  her  by  Miss  Swanwick,  to  see  a  small  portrait  in 
oil  of  Mrs.  Wordsworth,  said  to  be  by  Miss  Gillies  who 
painted  the  poet  so  often.  This  portrait,  which  is  now 
in  Dove  Cottage,  Grasmere,  hung  in  Miss  Gillies'  studio 
at  Hampstead  for  many  years.  She  always  spoke  of  it 
as  that  of  *  old  Mrs.  Wordsworth,'  and  on  the  back  of 
it  is  an  inscription  evidently  put  on  by  her  when  send- 
ing it  to  the  Koyal  Academy  ^  *  No.  1.  Portrait  of  Mrs. 
Wordsworth.'  Mrs.  Lewis  allowed  me  to  have  this 
miniature  etched  for  one  of  my  volumes  of  Wordsworth, 
and  afterwards  gave  the  original  for  preservation  in  the 
poet's  cottage  at  Grasmere.  A  question  arose  as  to  the 
identity  of  the  portrait,  but  this  need  not  now  be  dis- 
cussed, and  it  is  only  mentioned  to  explain  allusions  in 

Miss  Swanwick's  letter. 

*  *  *  *  # 

« 23  Cumberland  Terrace :  December  12, 1893. 

♦  *  *  *  * 

*Mrs.  Lewis  is  quite  willing  that  her  portrait  of 
Mrs.  Wordsworth  should  be  etched  for  the  forthcoming 
It  is  too  long  to  quote  here  in  full,  but  will  be  found  in  her  Faust. 


ANNA   SWANWICK  291 

edition  of  the  poet's  works ;  her  doubt  is  whether  the 
lady  whom  it  represents  is  the  poet's  wife.  I  was  so 
fearful  lest  I  should  not  accurately  represent  her  views 
that  I  requested  her  to  write  to  you  herself,  which  she 
promised  to  do.  [Mrs.  Lewis  at  once  wrote  on  the 
subject.] 

'  The  countenance  of  Mrs.  Wordsworth  as  portrayed 
by  Miss  Gillies  is  so  interesting  that  it  may  well 
represent  in  advanced  life  the  charming  creature  to 
whom  the  poet  addressed  his  lines,  "  She  was  a  phantom 
of  delight,"  &c.  I  hope  you  may  feel  satisfied  that  such 
is  the  case. 

*  Though  in  bygone  years  I  have  seen  Wordsworth, 
I  was  never  introduced  to  him ;  and  my  friends,  who 
had  the  privilege  of  knowing  him,  have  now  passed 
away.  I  fear,  therefore,  that  I  cannot  add  anything  by 
way  of  reminiscence.  I  am  tempted,  however,  to  men- 
tion one  circumstance,  related  to  me  by  my  old  friend 
Mr.  Crabb  Eobinson — a  devoted  disciple  and  admirer — 
which  is  interesting  as  indicating  how  genuinely  he 
appreciated  and  admired  in  the  poetry  of  another  the 
qualities  characteristic  of  his  own  genius. 

*  Wordsworth  was  accustomed,  as  told  me  by  Mr. 
Robinson,  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room,  with  his  hands 
behind  his  back,  muttering  his  own  verses.  What  more 
natural  when  he  was  revising  his  text  ?  One  day  Mr. 
Robinson  heard  him  repeating,  in  the  same  low  tone, 
Mrs.  Barbauld's  well-known  lines  upon  Life,  a  copy  of 
which  I  will  enclose.  When  he  came  to  the  end  he 
muttered :  "  I  should  like  to  have  written  that.     I  should 

D   2 


292  KETEOSPECTS 

like  to  have  written  that."     He  could  not  have  paid 
Mrs.  Barbauld  a  greater  compliment.^ 

*  I  am  delighted  to  hear  of  the  proposed  new 
edition  of  Wordsworth's  works,  in  poetry  and  prose; 
as  indicating  the  deeper  hold  which  they  are  gaining 
on  the  public  mind,  with  their  elevating  influence.' 


*  23  Cumberland  Terrace :  February  12,  1894. 

***** 

*  I  was  much  interested  to  learn  from  Mrs.  G.  Lewis 
that  during  Wordsworth's  walks  with  Miss  Gillies,  when 
she  was  his  guest,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  reciting — 
evidently  with  great  enjoyment — passages  from  the 
Greek  poets.  His  poems  I  confess— even  when,  like 
Laodamia,  founded  upon  classical  subjects — do  not 
appear  to  me  to  be  imbued  with  the  classical  spirit. 
I  was  therefore  surprised — and  the  feeling  would,  I  think, 
be  shared  by  others  of  the  poet's  admirers — to  learn  that 

'  The  lines  are  as  follows : 

'  Life  !  I  know  not  what  thou  art, 
But  know  that  thou  and  I  must  part ; 
And  when,  or  how,  or  where  we  met, 
I  own  to  me's  a  secret  yet. 

Life !  we  have  been  long  together. 
Through  pleasant  and  through  cloudy  weather ; 
'Tis  hard  to  part  when  friends  are  dear. 
Perhaps  'twill  cost  a  sigh,  or  tear  ; 

Then  steal  away,  give  little  warning. 
Choose  thine  own  time. 

Say  not  Good -Night,  but  in  some  brighter  clime 
Bid  me  Good-Morning.' 


ANNA  SWANWICK  293 

his  love  for  the  poetry  of  Hellas  found  such  unequivocal 
expression  as  its  recitation  for  his  own  enjoyment 
during  his  daily  walks. 

*  I  was  reminded  of  my  last  visit  to  Aldworth,  when, 
while  walking  through  his  grounds  with  Tennyson,  after 
expatiating  upon  the  magnificent  roll  of  the  Greek  verse, 
he  recited — in  illustration  of  his  remark,  and  with  the 
greatest  enthusiasm — a  long  passage  from  Homer. 

*  It  is  interesting  to  consider  this  bond  of  sympathy 
between  two  of  our  great  poets  of  the  nineteenth 
century.' 


294  EETKOSPECTS 


J.   HENBY  SHOBTHOUSE 

A  MEMOIR  of  the  author  of  John  Inglesant  is  being 
written  by  his  widow,  but  Mrs.  Shorthouse  has  allowed 
me  to  include  in  this  book  any  of  his  letters  which  seem 
illustrative  of  opinion  and  character. 

In  December  1880  I  happened  to  be  lecturing  on 
Spinoza,  to  the  Birmingham  and  Midland  Institute,  and 
met  Mr.  Shorthouse  at  the  residence  of  my  host. 
Our  talk  was  mainly  on  Plato,  Spinoza,  and  Words- 
worth ;  and  a  good  deal  of  our  subsequent  corre- 
spondence referred  to  these  three  great  writers.  He 
had  joined  our  '  Wordsworth  Society '  at  its  formation, 
and  I  suggested  to  him  the  preparation  of  a  paper  on 
*The  Platonism  of  Wordsworth,'  specially  apropos  of 
the  two  books  of  The  Excursion — *  Despondency '  and 
*  Despondency  Corrected ' — and  the  great  Ode^  Intima- 
tions of  Immortality,  He  liked  the  idea,  and  gradually 
wrought  it  out.  As  he  could  not  read  it  to  the  Society, 
it  was  published  in  Birmingham,  first  privately  in 
quarto  form,  and  afterwards  in  octavo  for  the  public. 
It  was  subsequently  included  in  our  Transactions, 

When  the  Society  held  its  third  meeting  in  London, 
the  year  in  which  Lord  Coleridge  was  President,  the 


J.   HENEY  SHOKTHOUSE  295 

Chief  Justice  invited  the  members  to  an  evening  recep- 
tion at  Sussex  Square.  Mr.  Shorthouse  was  one  of  an 
interesting  company  who  were  present.  John  Inglesant 
had  by  this  time — partly  through  Mr.  Gladstone's 
eulogy  of  it,  mainly  from  its  intrinsic  merit— become 
famous.  It  was  *the  book  of  the  hour,'  universally 
talked  of ;  and  everyone  wished  to  meet,  or  be  introduced 
to,  its  author.  It  was  a  rather  trying  ordeal  that  had 
to  be  gone  through ;  as,  although  Mr.  Shorthouse  had  a 
picturesque  countenance  and  a  highly  intellectual  ex- 
pression, he  had  a  stammer.  There  is  a  kind  of  stam- 
mering which  detracts  from  the  significance  of  speech, 
and  mars  it.  There  is  another  which  enhances  it,  gives 
it  charm  and  piquancy,  and  makes  it  even  more  distinc- 
tive than  the  even  onward  flow  of  talk.  The  latter  was 
Mr.  Shorthouse's.  His  face  irradiated  by  a  smile  or  lit  up 
by  laughter,  his  slender  right  hand  drawn  gracefully 
down  his  beard ;  his  whole  frame  quickly  responsive  to 
the  thought  or  feeling  in  the  sentences  he  uttered, 
no  one  could  ever  wish  that  the  peculiarity,  which  is 
generally  a  defect,  should  in  his  case  cease.  But,  at 
a  great  reception,  when  a  crowd  of  people  surround 
or  stand  near  a  distinguished  man,  all  wishing  to  be 
introduced,  and  the  sentence  spoken  to  one  not  being 
finished  before  another  requests  the  favour  of  presenta- 
tion, it  soon  became  a  trial  of  endurance.  Mrs.  Pfeiffer 
spoke  to  him  of  Greece,  Mrs.  Eastlake  of  Florence,  and 
Lord  Houghton  of  Keats  ;  till  he  said  to  me,  *  I  cannot 
talk  any  more  ;  I  see  Mr.  Arnold  has  gone,  and  I  must 
follow.' 


296  KETEOSPECTS 

But  it  was  in  his  own  home — Lansdowne,  at  Edg- 
baston — that  his  conversation  was  richest,  most  varied, 
and  stimulating.  Whether  in  his  library,  or  walking  in 
the  terraced  garden  he  loved  so  well,  its  range  was  wide, 
its  perspective  singularly  clear,  and  its  outlook  prescient. 
He  never  dogmatised ;  but  by  light  strokes  of  a  steel 
which  was  always  within  reach  he  struck  out  many  a 
spark  of  light  from  the  dry  flint  of  other  people's  talk. 
In  those  days,  and  for  years  afterwards,  I  never  passed 
through  Birmingham  without  calling  at  two  places,  the 
Oratory  and  Lansdowne ;  and  the  one  was  as  interesting 
as  the  other. 

John  Inglesant  rapidly  attracted  the  attention,  and 
won  the  regard,  of  the  thoughtful  readers  of  romance. 
The  photograph  of  Mr.  Gladstone  asleep  in  a  bower 
at  Hawarden,  with  the  book  which  he  had  been  reading 
for  hours  resting  on  his  knee,  was  much  in  demand. 
The  real  cause  of  the  book's  success — and  it  won  what 
was  far  better  than  popularity— was  both  its  subject- 
matter,  and  the  manner  of  its  treatment.  It  attracted 
reflective  readers,  who  were  interested  in  the  questions 
of  Philosophy  and  Keligion,  as  well  as  in  the  analysis  of 
character,  in  historic  incident,  and  in  descriptions  of 
scenery.  As  it  dealt,  not  with  passing  phases  of  thought 
and  feeling,  but  with  permanent  problems — the  questions 
of  the  ages — it  came  in  to  stay ;  and  it  remains  a  poss- 
ession to  many  thoughtful  men  and  women,  in  England 
and  America. 

In  its  descriptive  passages  realism  and  idealism  are 
finely  blended.    Many  persons  think  of  Little  Gidding 


J.  HENEY  SHOKTHOUSE  297 

as  a  place  which  they  have  known  and  visited,  although 
they  have  never  been  there ;  and  the  descriptions  of 
Florence,  though  not  so  realistic  as  those  in  Bomola, 
are  certainly  quite  as  remarkable,  having  been  written 
by  one  who  never  visited  it,  and — so  far  as  I  know — was 
never  out  of  England.  The  inner  affinity  between  the 
aim  of  Mr.  Shorthouse  in  John  Inglesant,  and  the  life- 
long endeavour  of  Matthew  Arnold,  comes  out  in  a 
sentence  in  one  of  the  following  letters:  *The  main 
intent  of  my  book  is  to  exalt  culture  against  fanaticism 
of  every  kind.' 

I  remember  his  intense  interest  in  a  small  English 
book,  written  by  a  German  workman  and  printed  in 
Germany,  called  The  Textuary  of  the  Pine-Wood.  It 
had  reached  him  from  the  Continent  in  a  mass  of 
packing  around  some  goods  ;  and  though  written  by  one 
who  was  only  learning  the  English  language,  it  was  full 
of  the  quaintest  and  daintiest  phrases,  natural,  archaic, 
and  fresh  as  the  woods  it  described. 

The  quiet  beauty  of  the  life  at  Edgbaston  will  be 
told  in  the  Memoir  which  is  being  written.  Those  who 
have  been  his  guests,  and  know  the  house  and  its 
garden-ground,  can  never  forget  the  host  who  was  so 
unostentatious,  and  quite  unspoiled  by  success.  The  city 
of  Birmingham  may  well  be  proud  that  such  a  man  was 
born  and  worked  within  it,  and  that  he  combined  a 
business  career  with  a  life  devoted  to  culture.  His  name, 
in  the  capital  city  of  the  Midlands,  will  be  associated  with 
those  of  Priestley,  Darwin,  Dawson,  Naden,  and  others 
who  have  given  distinction  to  it. 


398  KETKOSPECTS 

The  following  are  a  selection  from  his  letters  received 
by  me.    Others  have  been  sent  to  Mrs.  Shorthouse. 

'Lansdowne,  Edgbaston:  December  1,  1880. 

*  The  very  pleasant  evening  I  spent  in  your  company 
on  Monday  last  has  made  me  wish  to  request  your 
acceptance  of  a  volume  of  Philosophical  Eomance,  of 
which  work  I  have  printed  a  few  copies,  mostly  for 
private  circulation.  I  enclose  a  review  which  has 
appeared  in  the  Athenceum,  by  which  you  will  see  that 
the  reviewer  was  rather  oppressed  by  the  work  (a  single 
copy  was  sent  out  by  the  provincial  bookseller  with  no 
introduction),  and  my  only  hesitation  in  sending  it  to 
you  arises  from  the  knowledge  I  have  that  your  time 
must  be  so  fully  occupied  that  I  doubt  whether  the  book 
is  of  sufficient  interest  to  justify  the  spending  of  time 
over  it. 

*  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦ 

*  I  purchased  the  first  edition  of  The  Excursion  you 
told  me  of.  It  is  a  nice  clean  copy  in  the  original 
boards.  Are  the  lines  in  the  preface  part  of  the 
unpublished  MS.  which  exists  of  The  Becluse  ?  If  there 
are  more  like  them,  the  sooner  the  MS.  is  given  to  the 
world  the  better. 

*  If  I  can  at  any  future  time  get  any  ideas  put  upon 
paper  concerning  Wordsworth's  Platonism  I  will  do  so, 
but  it  is  no  child's  play.  It  will  be  necessary  to  con- 
centrate the  essence  of  Wordsworth's  teaching  (in  the 
whole  of  his  works),  as  regards  the  effect  of  material  law 
(Nature)  upon  intellectual  Existence,  by  which  it  appears 


J.  HENKY  SHOKTHOUSE  299 

he  conceived  of  absolute  Being,  but  which  as  a  system 
he  has,  I  thinks  left  somewhat  vague ;  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  will  be  necessary  to  formulate  Platonism,  which 
has  never  yet  been  satisfactorily  done,  and  the  requisites 
of  which  Jowett  has  utterly  failed  even  to  perceive.  And 
Grote,  as  it  seems  to  me,  was — as  an  interpreter  of  Plato — 
like  a  blind  man  writing  upon  colour  ;  but  admirable  so 
far  as  his  perceptions  went.  Shall  I  present  a  copy  of 
my  book  to  your  Library,  and  then  no  one  need  read 
more  than  he  likes  ? ' 


•  Lansdowne,  Edgbaston  :  December  7,  1880. 

***** 

*  I  have  forwarded  the  book  to  you  by  rail  to-day. 
You  will  find  many  misprints  in  it,  as  I  revised  all  the 
proofs  myself.  Indeed  I  consider  this  edition  in  the 
light  of  a  proof  itself.  I  am  reading  Pollock's  Spinoza 
with  great  interest,  and  thank  you  for  introducing  me 
to  the  book.  I  have  not  got  far  in  the  philosophical 
part,  but  what  I  have  read  is  very  lucid  and  charming. 
I  shall  look  out  for  your  book  eagerly. 

'  Your  suggestion  with  regard  to  an  essay  on  Words- 
worth's Platonism  is  a  very  tempting  one,  but  I  cannot 
think  myself  equal  to  such  an  undertaking.  I  will  see 
what  I  can  do ;  and,  if  I  find  myself  getting  on  at  all, 
I  will  let  you  know. 

*  «  *  *  « 

*  The  main  intent  of  my  book  is  to  exalt  culture 
against  fanaticism  of  every  kind.     But  I  flatter  myself 


300  EETKOSPECTS 

I  have  not  unduly  intruded  the  moral,  as  few  readers 
have  perceived  it,  without  my  pointing  it  out.' 


*  Lansdowne,  Edgbaston  :  February  8,  1881. 

*  I  send  by  this  post  a  paper  upon  Wordsworth's 
Platonism  for  you  to  look  at.  I  do  not  know  whether  it 
is  anything  like  what  you  think  the  subject  requires.  ... 
It  would  be  easy,  of  course,  to  say  much  more  upon 
Platonism,  but  this  does  not  seem  to  me  to  be  what  is 
wanted.  If  more  could  be  said  upon  the  subject  as  seen 
by  Wordsworth,  it  would  be  much  more  desirable.  It 
might  be  possible  to  trace  somewhat  of  Platonic  mean- 
ing in  the  lyrical  poems,  but  the  success  would,  I  think, 
be  rather  that  of  ingenuity  than  of  reality.  The 
question,  "Was  Wordsworth  a  Christian  ? "  will  perhaps 
some  day  be  asked,  and  answered,  with  useful  results ; 
at  present,  and  at  least  before  the  "Wordsworth 
Society,"  it  would  not  be  a  suitable  inquiry. 

*  The  unexpected  attack  he  makes  upon  Voltaire  has 

always  struck  me  as  worth  notice.    It  can  scarcely  be 

explained  by  considering  it  as  merely  in  accordance  with 

the   Wanderer's   character.    Apropos  of  Mr.  Frederick 

Pollock's  suggestion  of  traces  of  Spinoza's  influence,  I 

should  suggest  some  of  the  last  lines  I  quote  as  a  motto 

for  Spinoza :  ' 

Unswerving  shall  we  move  as  if  impelled 
By  strict  necessity  along  the  path 
Of  order  and  of  good.' 


J.  HENEY  SHOETHOUSB  301 

*  June  1,  1881. 

if:  *  *  *  * 

*  You  are  perfectly  at  liberty  to  make  any  use  of  my 
paper  you  like,  to  read  it  at  the  meeting,  or  take  any 
other  course  you  think  most  likely  to  promote  what 
alone  we  all  have  at  heart,  viz.  the  study  and  apprecia- 
tion of  the  greatest  poet-philosopher  of  any  age  or 
literature.' 


'  Lansdowne,  Edgbaston :  August  5, 1881. 

#  «  #  #  # 

*  I  have  been  thinking  a  good  deal  upon  the  subject 
of  my  paper,  as  I  have  commenced  my  annual  study  of 
The  Excursion,  and  I  am  more  and  more  impressed 
with  the  possibilities  which  a  perfect  analysis  of  the 
poem  would  open  in  the  direction  of  Platonic  Thought. 
I  sincerely  think  little  of  my  paper,  which  in  fact 
consists  mostly  of  quotation,  but  the  least  thing  may  set 
people  thinking  upon  a  subject,  and  I  should  be  very 
pleased  to  elicit  the  opinion  of  competent  thinkers  on 
the  lines  laid  down  in  the  paper  on  the  synthesis  of 
matter  and  thought  as  each  was  suggested  to  Words- 
worth's mind. 

*  «  #  *  * 

*P.S.    The  suggestion  of  the  subject  in  your  own 

book  makes  it  the  more  fit  that  you  should  take  it  up.' 

***** 

•  Lansdowne,  Edgbaston :  September  24, 1881. 

*The  paper  Miss  Beale  alludes  to  is  one  called 
An>  Apologue,  in  the  July  number  of  the  Nineteenth 


302  KETEOSPECTS 

Century.     It  is   a   little  jeu  d'esprit,  which  I  think 
contains  the  germ  of  a  good  deal  of  stiff  writing. 

***** 

'  I  asked  Mrs.  Owen  why  she  omitted  from  her  essay 
the  last  verse  (on  Death)  in  the  Elegiac  Stanzas  ad- 
dressed to  Sir  George  Beaumont,  upon  the  death  of  his 
Sister-in-law,  This  has  led  to  an  interesting  question 
as  to  the  meaning  of  the  verse,  whether  the  hope  relates 
to  a  future  state,  or  to  the  result  of  Death  upon  our  own 
feelings.* 

*  Lansdowne,  Edgbaston :  December  6,  1881. 

•  I  have  to  thank  you  very  much  for  your  letter,  and 
for  your  kindness  in  telling  me  so  much  of  the  way 
John  Inglesant  has  been  received  among  your  friends. 
It  is,  as  you  well  say,  delightful  to  learn  that  anything 
that  you  have  written  has  been  a  help  to  such  as  you 
describe.    I  can  only  suppose  that  it  is  that  I  have  been 
so  happy  as  to  become,  for  a  moment,  the  mouthpiece  of 
one  or  other  of  those  eternal  truths,  of  that  kuXtj^  oyBrjs, 
that    sweet    song,    which,   coming  down  through   the 
generations,  as  Plato  says,  from  the  harp  of  divine  love, 
is  caught  up  now  and  again,  by  one  and  another,  who  is 
but  the  string  upon  which  the  notes  are  played.     It  is 
enough  surely,  for  any  man,  to  have  carried  on  even 
for  an  instant  and  in  the  feeblest  way  such  wonderful 
song.     One  of  the  most  pleasing  things  about  the  book 
is,  I  think,  the  way  it  seems  to  have  appealed  to  such 
different   conditions   of  mind :    the  persons   of  whom 
you  speak,  Mr.  Gladstone,  Professor  Huxley,  and  Mr. 


J.   HENEY  SHOETHOUSE  303 

Frederick  Pollock  on  the  one  hand,  and  on  the  other 
boys  of  no  hitherto  suspected  taste  for  Literature,  who 
have  read  the  book  with  an  eagerness  which  has  sur- 
prised their  friends. 

«  *  •  #  * 

*  Anything  I  can  do  ^  is  indeed  little  compared  with 
the  unspeakable  benefit  and  delight  I  have  for  many 
years  found  in  the  poet's  works.' 

#  *  «  «  * 

*  Lansdowne,  Edgbaston  :  March  27, 1882. 

*  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  that  you  cannot  find  the 
book.^  I  know  how  miserable  it  makes  me,  when  I  am 
in  a  similar  trouble.  Very  often  they  turn  up  in  a  won- 
derful manner,  so  that  you  cannot  imagine  where  they 
can  have  been ;  sometimes,  however,  they  never  turn 
up  !  Then,  the  only  consolation  is  that  you  have  been 
over  all  your  books,  refreshed  your  memory  of  them, 
found  out  where  they  all  are,  and  perhaps  discovered 
something  that  may  be  of  use  immediately,  which 
otherwise  you  would  have  missed.  This  is  the  only 
consolation  I  can  offer ;  I  never  lend  certain  books 
under  any  pretence. 

*  I  do  not  think  that  I  agree  with  your  plan  of  keep- 
ing the  Church  collects  separate  from  the  others.^ 
I  think  the  combination  gives  life  and  interest;  and, 
if  the  others  are  good,  does  not  jar.' 


'  This  refers  to  his  paper  on  The  Platonism  of  Wordsworth,  for  the 
Society's  Transactions. 

^  It  was  The  Textuary  of  the  Pine-Wood. 
'  In  Hmie  Prayers  (Blackwood,  1881). 


304  KETKOSPECTS 

*  Lansdowne,  Edgbaston :  January  25,  1885. 

*  Many  thanks  for  your  lecture.^  We  have  read  it, 
both  aloud  and  to  ourselves  (my  wife  and  I),  and  are 
delighted  with  it.  It  is  so  exactly  what  is  wanted  for 
the  girls  (and  boys  too  for  that  matter)  of  the  modern 
education.  I  wish  that  you  could  read  it  here,  in  some 
of  our  "  high  schools.'* 

*Your  lecture  seems  to  me  to  be  a  link  in  the 
Lampadephoria  of  the  old  faith,  passed  on  to  the  new 
generation,  without  which  the  new  learning  and  systems 
will  be  nothing  but  ignes  fatui, 

*  I  was  very  much  pleased  with  the  new  Wordsworth 
numbers,  and  proud  to  find  myself  in  such  good  company. 
I  was  particularly  delighted  with  Eawnsley's  paper ;  it 
seems  to  me  to  be  a  distinct  effort  of  genius,  and  to  give 

us  a  real  and  new  insight  into  Wordsworth's  personality.' 

#  #  *  *  * 

*  Lansdowne,  Edgbaston :  November  23,  1886. 

*  I  cannot  tell  you  how  grateful  I  am  for  the  remark- 
able unbroken  unanimity  of  kindly  and  generous  sym- 
pathy and  appreciation  which  I  received  from  Scotland. 
This  was  the  case  from  the  very  first,  and  now  day  after 
day  brings  me  papers  from  every  part  of  Scotland  full 
of  the  same  sympathy.  All  these  reviews  have  the 
impress  of  the  literary  excellence  for  which  Scotland  has 
always  been  famous.  One  from  Dundee  this  morning, 
for  instance,  speaks  of  the  "quaint  fervour  "  of  Simeon, 

a  most  perfect  epithet.' 

#  *  «  ♦  * 

»  On  *  The  Higher  Education  of  Women.* 


J.   HENKY   SHOETHOUSE  306 

'  Lansdowne,  Edgbaston  :  December  17,  1888. 

*  I  feel  as  though  I  ought  to  write  you  a  line  to  con- 
gratulate you  and  to  thank  you  for  having  given  us  The 
Becluse,  which  I  have  just  read,  and  re-read.  I  think 
that  you  once  told  me  that  you  had  often  urged  its 
publication  without  success.  I  think  it  is  much  to  be 
regretted  that  it  was  not  published  before ;  but  this 
only  makes  the  debt  we  owe  you  the  greater.  It  seems 
to  me  purely  and  perfectly  Wordsworthian  from  the  first 
word  to  the  last :  that  is,  we  have  all  that  we  expect  of 
Wordsworth  at  his  best ;  but  more  than  this  even,  it 
seems  to  me  to  be  Wordsworth  himself,  in  a  sense  more 
revealed  and  unveiled  than  in  any  other  lines  of  his. 
How  completely  self-revealing  and  how  true,  for  instance, 
are  the  (to  me)  most  touching  lines  (pp.  44-5) 

Yet  to  me  I  feel 
That  an  internal  brightness  is  vouchsafed 
That  must  not  die,  that  must  not  pass  away  ; 


and 


Possessions  have  I  that  are  solely  mine, 
Something  within  which  yet  is  shared  by  none, 
Something  which  power  and  effort  may  impart. 


*  We  seem  to  see  here  the  officina,  the  Poet  being 

made ;  and  we  thank  God,  and — under  God — Dorothy 

Wordsworth,  that,  unlike  others  of  his  age  and  circle,  he 

was  enabled  to  rise  above  the  delightful   indolence  of 

sweet  thought  and  dreams,  by  "power"  and  "effort," 

aided— and  how  loyally  none  will  ever  fully  know  in  this 

world — by  his  sister. 

A  voice  shall  speak,  and  what  will  be  the  theme  ? 
I  would  impart  it,  I  would  spread  it  wide ; 
Immortal  in  the  world  which  is  to  come. 

I.  X 


306  EETEOSPECTS 

*  We  have  in  this  poem  an  answer  to  what  many 
have  questioned,  how  Wordsworth  really  regarded  the 
peasantry  around  him ;  and  his  lines  on  his  sister, 
read  in  connection  with  those  on  Tintem  Abbey, 
would  alone  make  this  poem  indispensable. 

'  I  think  he  never  wrote  more  beautiful  ones  than 
those  at  p.  48. 

But  me  hath  Nature  tamed,  and  bade  to  seek 
Far  other  agitations,  or  be  calm  ; 
Hath  dealt  with  me  as  with  a  turbulent  stream, 
Some  nursling  of  the  mountains  which  she  leads 
Through  quiet  meadows,  after  he  has  learnt 
His  strength,  and  had  his  triumph  and  his  joy, 
His  desperate  course  of  tumult  and  of  glee. 
That  which  in  stealth  by  Nature  was  performed 
Hath  Reason  sanctioned ;  her  deliberate  Voice 
Hath  said;  be  mild  and  cleave  to  gentle  things 
Thy  glory  and  thy  happiness  be  there. 
Nor  fear,  though  thou  confide  in  me,  a  want 
Of  aspirations  that  have  been — of  foes 
To  wrestle  with,  and  victory  to  complete, 
Bounds  to  be  leapt,  darkness  to  be  explored ; 
All  that  inflamed  thy  infant  heart,  the  love, 
The  longing,  the  contempt,  the  undaunted  quest, 
All  shall  survive,  though  changed  their  office,  all 
Shall  live,  it  is  not  in  their  power  to  die. 

*  The  whole  poem,  indeed,  tempts  one  to  quote.  The 
description  of  the  valley  at  the  beginning  seems  to 
surpass  those  in  The  Excursion.  It  is  fresher  and 
more  brilliant,  also  what  is  said  of  the  flight  of  birds 
(p.  14). 

*  Some  lines  I  can  fancy  Charles  Lamb  noticing,  of 
that  weird  kind  that  he  always  liked,  and  which  is  a 


J.   HENEY   SHOKTHOUSE  307 

distinct  feature  not  perhaps  always  noticed  in  Words- 
worth : 

Like  a  hound 

Single  at  chase  among  the  lonely  woods 

His  yell  repeating ; 

(p.  22)  ;  or  (p.  23) : 

That  very  voice,  which,  in  some  timid  mood 
Of  superstitious  fancy,  might  have  seemed 
Awful  as  ever  stray  demoniac  uttered, 
His  steps  to  govern  in  the  wilderness. 

*  I  hope  I  have  not  wearied  you  out  of  measure,  but 
I  felt  that  something  must  be  said  to  thank  you  for 
your  share  in  this,  as  it  seems  to  me,  most  important 
epoch-marking  publication  in  our  Wordsworth  life.' 


*  Lansdowne,  Edgbaston  :  June  4,  1890. 
#  ♦  *  #  * 

*  I  have  never  felt  the  slightest  interest  in  such 
places  as  Shakespeare's  and  Wordsworth's  houses,  &c.^ 
The  interest  in,  and  the  places  to  study  a  writer,  seem 
to  me  to  be  his  books.  .  .  .  The  surroundings  of  such 
homes   and   places    necessarily   change   so   much   that 

nothing  of  the  original  tone  and  feeling  remains.' 

***** 

'  Lansdowne,  Edgbaston :  November  15,  1891. 

*  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  book,  which 

I  found  here  on  our  return  from  Devonshire,  where  we 

have  been  spending  a  month. 

*  See  Mr.  Buskin's  remarks  on  this  subject,  in  the  Second  Series  of 
these  Retrospects. 


308  KETEOSPECTS 

*I  have  only  been  able  at  present  to  read  your 
preface  and  introduction ;  they  both  interest  me  ex- 
ceedingly. In  fact  no  subject  has  been  for  years  a 
matter  of  deeper  puzzle  to  me  than  the  nature  of  The 
Beautiful,  and  I  shall  follow  your  historical  account  of 
the  inquiry  with  very  great  interest.  I  see  with  great 
satisfaction  that  you  promise  us  a  "  constructive  theory  " 
to  follow  by-and-by.  I  am  particularly  struck  by  the 
pertinence  of  your  remarks,  on  pp.  ix  and  x  of  the 
preface,  on  the  positive  (or  creative)  theory  rather  than 
that  of  the  negative.  Your  words  seem  to  me  extremely 
valuable,  and  I  should  be  most  glad  to  see  them  carried 
forward,  as  they  no  doubt  will  be,  in  your  further  work. 

*  I  am  also  very  much  struck  with  a  remark  on  p.  24 
with  reference  to  Plato,  in  whose  writings  there  is  a 
great  deal  of  detached  and  very  stimulating  thought 
about  Beauty,  although  no  consistent  theory  of  it  is 
reached. 

*  I  have  been  reading  a  good  deal  of  Plato  lately,  and 
this  sentence  strikes  me  as  being  marvellously  true  of 
his  method  and  attainment  as  a  whole. 

*P.S.  Since  I  wrote  this  I  have  read  some  more 
pages,  with  an  astonishing  increase  of  delight.' 


'  Lansdowne,  Edgbaston  :  January  10,  1893. 

* ...  I  now  hardly  ever  attend  lectures.  They  are 
mostly  quasi-scientific  or  illustrated  lectures,  with  lime- 
light photographs  and  other  attractions  to  a  very  large 


J.   HENRY   SHORTHOUSE  309 

audience.     The  literary  lectures  of  our  youth  seem  to  be 
either  scarce  or  not  popular.' 

It  is  difficult  to  state  in  a  few  sentences  in  what  the 
charm  of  John  higlesant  consists.  It  is  not  an  ordinary 
tale,  not  a  society  sketch ;  nor  is  it  an  historical  novel, 
or  a  philosophical  romance.  Perhaps  its  uniqueness  lies 
in  this.  It  is  the  record  of  a  grave  and  solemn  quest 
for  that  in  which  the  heart  of  man  may  find  repose,  and 
may  experience  it  with  superabounding  evidence  of  its 
reality ;  not  merely  seek  for  it,  but  obtain  it  as  well. 
He  does  not  find  it  in  Books,  or  Institutions — much  as 
these  are  valued,  and  utilised — but,  in  the  fellowship 
of  a  life  that  endures,  while  the  former  may  change. 
To  represent  it  as  written  to  embody  any  special 
truth,  or  teaching,  is  nearly  as  great  a  mistake  as 
to  imagine  that  Shakespeare  wrote  his  plays  with  an 
ethical  purpose  primarily  in  view.  So  many  great 
works  have  been  described — and  accurately  described — 
as  a  search  for  the  summum  bonum,  or  the  *  way  to  the 
blessed  life,'  while  the  paths  taken  and  the  guide-posts 
set  up  have  been  very  various,  that  it  may  not  be  the 
most  exact  method  of  characterising  any  of  them  ;  but 
I  may  hazard  the  following,  by  way  of  comparison. 

I  once  asked  a  somewhat  famous  artist,  successfully 
devoted  both  to  landscape  and  figure  painting,  and  who 
had  spent  most  of  his  time  in  Holland,  what  was  his 
ideal  of  landscape  beauty.  *  Ah,'  said  he,  *  I  am  an 
amateur  of  the  Repose  !  It  is  the  Repose  I  like  to  paint.' 
Certainly  Mr.  Shorthouse,  in  John  Inglesanty  was  '  an 


310  EETEOSPECTS 

amateur  of  the  Repose,'  in  the  sense  in  which  my  artist- 
friend  defined  it.  With  him,  as  with  the  poet  whom  he 
knew  and  loved  so  well,  it  was  most  true  that 

The  moving  accident  was  not  his  trade, 
To  freeze  the  blood  he  had  no  ready  arts, 

and  it  is  the  very  subject-matter  of  his  chief  romance 
that  gives  it  its  distinctive  character.  It  is  so  great,  so 
elevated,  so  enduring  that  the  goodly  company  of  varied 
characters  to  whom  we  are  introduced  raises  its  *  high 
argument '  sometimes  to  a  level  with,  and  sometimes 
above,  that  of  Scott ;  however  far  the  literary  art,  and 
charm,  may  fall  below  those  of  Sir  Walter. 


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